Shot Reborn
by wolfern
Summary: Alex has been shot. Again. This time he's taking things into his own hands and finding out by whom.
1. Prologue - COWS

Shot

AN: I did this for fun. It will probably be not that great, because I was trying to cram in all my first-aid knowledge (i.e., nothing much). Anyway, enjoy!

Edit 2014: This chapter has been cleaned up a lot. Even so, don't base the quality of my writing on this one chapter, please. It was written years ago, and I have (hopefully) improved since then.

**Disclaimer: I wish I owned this, but I don't. I owe this to my old teachers for the knowledge and all the other stuff belongs to other people.**

* * *

**Prologue**

Alex didn't see it happen.

He was on his way to the football field where he'd been practising for almost half the year now. It had taken a while and a lot of persistent nagging, but Alex had finally convinced the coach that – despite his recent absences – he could be relied on to turn up. Alex felt a surge of pride that he hadn't missed a training session yet. His skill had spoken louder than the rumours, so for the first game of the club football season, he'd been promoted to co-captain.

As Alex headed towards the park, football bag on his back, something slammed into his stomach, knocking him to the ground. At first, he was sure he'd been punched and quickly looked about for his attacker. To his surprise, however, no one was there – and when he looked down, he saw blood dribbling out of a small, neat hole near his belly button in time to his heartbeat thundering drum-like in his ears.

Dully, he began to register a throbbing, burning pain as the hollow thudding of his heart increased, blithely rushing towards its end. Black spots danced across the sky like oddly shaped birds, and while he smiled at the sight, he faintly registered the sound of a voice asking for his name.

"Alex," he declared, and passed out.

xxx

Katy was first on the scene. Coming home from work, she'd noticed a boy dressed in football gear fall to the ground as if pushed backwards by an invisible assailant with a vendetta against football players. The boy's head twisted around, eyes futilely searching his surroundings for the invisible foe.

Automatically she rushed over immediately, noting the spreading pool of blood around him and his slowly paling skin. Taking a precautionary glance to check for danger to either herself or the boy, Katy followed the almost-forgotten instructions in first aid she had received.

"Can you hear me?"

No answer. She checked his mouth and throat. Nothing. At least he was still breathing, albeit faintly.

"Open your eyes!" she commanded.

Pale lids, veins showing through, fluttered. Dilated pupils focused vaguely over her shoulder.

She checked his body for major injuries; considering the way he had fallen, he could have hit is head on the ground. But he hadn't. Head, no. Neck, no. Shoulders, no.

"What is your name?" she asked, not expecting a reply. "Squeeze my hands!"

There! Above and to the left of his navel was a hole steadily oozing blood. What an odd injury, she observed. But, more importantly, how could she stop the blood?

"Don't panic," Katy hissed to herself, ripping the hem off the boy's already bloodstained shirt, efficiently bundling it up and pressing it to the wound. As she calmly told a bystander to call an ambulance and then to return immediately, a faint voice answered her.

"Alex…"

And with that, his faint breath and pulse stopped as he slipped into unconsciousness. Singing under her breath, Katy began CPR.

"You can tell by the way I use my walk…"

xxx

The sniper watched the panicked scene in a car nearby, having rid all evidence of his quiet presence in the building he'd occupied mere moments ago. It was a pity the lady had arrived, but it was simply too late to do anything about it. He contemplated the thick crowd surrounding his target. Now _there_ was a prime place for a bomb.

Briefly, the sniper wondered about the inevitable explosion his client would undoubtedly make when they eventually learned of his failure. He would probably have to dispose of them. After his pay, of course.


	2. Competition :D

xxxx COMPETITION NOTICE xxx

I wasn't going to make a whole chapter for this, but (of course) not many of you seem to be reading the author's notes, and have missed the fact that I announced a competition. Either that, or you don't care...

ANYWAY:  
As you read, you may have noticed quite a few references to pop culture, or anything, really. This was deliberate.

I have created a competition:

Task: Review with references that I have made (e.g. _Staying Alive _by The Bee Gees, prologue, "You can tell by the way I use my walk") - the reviewer with the most references wins.

End Date: February 13, 2016

Prize: A one-shot from me, of your choice.

Note:  
The prize is limited to fandoms I know (if I can't write it, I'll ask you to choose something else) and the rules of FFNET (nothing explicit, please) :)  
I reserve the right to ask you to choose a different story.

Thank you for your time ^_^

\- Wolfern


	3. Chappie 1 - In the Beginning

**Chappie One**

**AN: As you read, you may notice quite a few references to pop culture, or anything, really. This is deliberate, and I hereby disclaim that I own nothing that I reference. Also, I am announcing a competition: The person before February 13, 2016 to review with the highest number of references that I have made (e.g. **_**Staying Alive **_**by The Bee Gees, prologue, "You can tell by the way I use my walk") will win a one-shot from me, of their choice. The prize is limited to fandoms I know (if I can't write it, I'll ask you to choose something else) and the rules of FFNET (nothing explicit, please) :) I reserve the right to ask you to choose a different story.**

* * *

Alex woke to a steady beeping. Disoriented at first, he was shocked to find himself clothed in a dress, which was open at the back. Even more horrifying were the wires plugged into him and the stark whiteness of the room in which he was confined. It reminded him eerily of the Matrix, except that the Matrix didn't force its male prisoners to wear dresses. Unless the prisoners wanted to. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Anyway…

Mind still sluggish, he looked at the tubes poking out of his skin. He had to remove them, quickly. Who knew what poisonous substances were being pumped into his bloodstream? In one movement, the tubes were torn out. He started at the long, angry beep now resonating from a machine near the bed he sat upon. To stop the obnoxious noise, he pushed the machine away, where it stopped, sulkily, next to the door.

The noise was probably an alarm, and his captors were probably returning right now to sedate him again. He had to get out.

Stepping off his bed, the carpeted floor was rough and hard on his bare feet compared to the soft sheets of before. He shuffled slowly over to the window, still weak from the drugs his captors had given him. With a bit of effort, he opened it. Stupid of whoever had kidnapped him to leave him a way to escape.

Ignoring the winds buffeting at him from outside, he started to climb down, using a rainwater-pipe to steady himself.

Hopefully, the match hadn't started yet – he could still make it before the coach got too pissed off at him...

xxx

Nurse Wainscott was not having a good day. She'd woken at one o'clock in the morning to an alarm blaring at her, and upon going to its corresponding room, had found that her patient had escaped, after tearing off his heart-rate monitor.

What kind of a patient tears off their heart-rate monitor? Was he _trying_ to make her life more difficult? Patients these days, honestly. They needed so much patience.

Knowing that she had no other option, Wainscott had gone to the supervisor and informed the woman of the Escape. The woman had been very understanding, having had disoriented spies in her care before, but Nurse Wainscott worried that this understanding might not be present when she was faced with the agent's bosses.

After the explanation, she was ordered back up to the room, and to take a partner with her. Perhaps she was merely tired and had only imagined seeing an empty bed where there shouldn't be.

Unfortunately, this was not the case.

With her partner close behind, she rushed back down to the supervisor and informed her that, no, she wasn't hallucinating. Of course, the supervisor had to be completely sure – could she check again? After a few more months of this, Nurse Wainscott reckoned she would become quite fit.

When she came back, her supervisor was less understanding, as expected. With a quick order to someone else to call the Firm, the hospital was soon sent into a flurry of searching orderlies, nurses and interns, all watched over by the hawk-eyes of their supervisor.

They performed an initial search; then, failing to find him, began to comb the entire building in earnest. After multiple scourings, it soon became obvious that the boy wouldn't be found so easily. Damn these spies and their infernal escaping abilities.

However, he _was_ to be commended for his talents...

Nurse Wainscott felt sorry for the poor interns who had never experienced anything like this. Then again, _they _weren't the ones who were going to be in trouble. She snarled at a particularly awkward looking one, who looked very small and very frightened standing in a corner. He cringed in response, looking even more like a deer in headlights. Why couldn't he stop cowering and actually _help?_

On the other hand, maybe it was good that he wasn't helping. Ugh, she was so confused. It was all the spy's fault. Though he _had_ been drugged up...

She irritably brushed off another annoying intern who hovered around her like a mosquito, buzzing included. Well, it sounded like buzzing; she wasn't really listening.

As she swept by, she sent a glance towards the receptionist. The poor lady was very meekly informing the Head of MI6 about the problem. Then again...

xxx

Alex was ecstatic. After climbing for so long, it was wonderful to see the ground in reach. It wasn't very nice to wake in an unknown place, and he was still very annoyed about the dress he'd been dressed in. He was going to 'borrow' some much less revealing clothes when he got done down, law be damned! He _was_ the law! Or at least, he worked for the law. Same thing, right?

However, as he was reaching down to move a step closer to freedom, trousers (although the two were rather contradictory) and the football match he'd been working towards all year, he felt a twinge of pain. It started at his abdomen and quickly spread to his leg. Knives were cutting into his internal muscles and he shut his eyes as if to block it out.

It didn't work. The pain grew. He hoped it wouldn't become too unbearable; he was still a fair way above the ground, and it would hurt a lot if he fell.

Frowning, he rubbed his strangely-sore stomach, eyebrows drawing even closer together when he saw his hand come away with a red liquid. Why –? Was he leaking? Was he melting? What was happening to him?

He started to panic. What if he didn't make it down? What if his captors had poisoned him and this was the effect? He cursed the cruel people who had done this to him.

Then, like a pin dropping, he realised that couldn't be right because the wires he'd been so scared of before had been attached to a heart-rate monitor. Did that sign really say 'St Dominic's Hospital'? And… were those bandages around his waist?

His mouth fell open as he remembered. The sniper! Of course! It was so obvious now, and he cursed the morphine for slowing down his ... mental fastness stuff. He'd been shot and blacked out. This was obviously a hospital he'd been put in!

"Gah!"

With a frustrated sigh, Alex reached up with his arm and began the long climb back up.

xxx

By now, the hospital had slipped into the high panic mode that humans switch to when they realise they're about to crash and burn. It is in this state that some of the most inspired inventions have been created. Not today, however.

To Nurse Wainscott's slight amusement, coloured with commiseration, she observed yet another intern – who'd arrived only a week before – sobbing to the side. She understood how he felt, even if she would be happier if he cleaned himself up and actually did something useful. Poor duck.

She continued walking the path to her doom.

Arriving at the front desk, she was pointed to a man who seemed to almost fade when you tried to look at him. So this was what the head of MI6 looked like. When she concentrated on his face, she noted his lips, a strange pinky-purple drooping over a crooked jaw-line, his detached grey eyes, and his wrinkles, which completed his blank-faced old-man look.

Wiping the pity off her face, she strode briskly to him.

"Nurse Wainscott?" he droned. Of course he would know her name.

"Yes. I'm to show you the room where Agent Rider was last seen." At least her voice was steady.

"Very good."

She wondered how he could look so calm in front of the person he surely blamed for the disappearance of his agent. She shuddered to wonder what he would look like while signing the form sacking her from her job.

After some thought, she came to a conclusion: probably the same.

"Follow me, please."

xxx

Nurse Wainscott came to the door of the empty room and stepped aside to let the head of MI6 speak to the guard outside. She felt a slight feeling of vindication when she realised that the soldier would probably receive as much, if not more, blame than she would.

The poor man moved away to let the MI6 head enter through the white, somehow very irritating door.

It opened slowly, with the same sense of foreboding that precedes a death in a horror movie. The only thing missing was the high-pitched shriek of a violin.

The head of MI6 crossed the threshold slowly. Everything seemed to be in place. The bed was where it was meant to be. The TV was untouched, the bedside table undisturbed. The only thing out of place was the heart rate monitor, which stood off-kilter next to the door.

The man's awful wrinkled body in its depressingly bland suit stepped over to the window.

As he peered over the ledge, Wainscott's panicked thoughts ran wild.

_Oh no, now he's looking out the window. Hah, the wind's a pretty good spy, exposing your comb over like that. I wonder what would happen if I walked over there and push—Oh, he's turned around. Hi, Sir, I'd like to show some initiative and leave right now, if you don't mind._

Just as she was about to follow through on that last thought, the MI6 head froze.

He stared.

_What is he staring at? What's so interesting about the bed? Is there a strange stain? Oh, no, it's only the body. THE BODY? That wasn't there before. Now he's looking at me! What have _I _done? _

Slowly, with an air of disbelief, he looked up at the group, back down to the body, and back up to the group. He repeated this motion a few times.

_He looks like one of those nodding dogs that are on the dashboards of cars._

On the bed before them, one blond teenager slept peacefully with a smirk on his damned face. Out of the corner of his almost-closed eyes, a very tired and sheepish Alex saw Mr Blunt twitch.

xxx

When Alex awoke the next morning, Blunt was still beside his bed and wearing the same annoyed expression he'd carried the day before. Alex felt equally annoyed. The coach had specifically said upon Alex's promotion that Alex had better not disappoint him and get sick or anything. The man was going to kill him once he found out that Alex was in hospital.

Like a person next to a landmine, Alex sat up carefully. He didn't want any sudden movements forcing his boss' emotions over the edge and causing an explosion. But to his relief, Blunt simply looked at him.

"We need to talk," he said, "about this attack." He had obviously decided to ignore Alex's mysterious disappearance and miraculous return.

Still not completely sure of his safety, Alex tried not to snigger at the poor choice of words. "Respectfully, sir, what is there to say? I was shot, and now I'm here. When I'm allowed to, I'll leave and go home. You know, I missed the first match of the season."

Blunt sighed, seeming oddly emotional. Alex decided it was simply an affectation, meant to make him feel at ease. (He didn't.) "I'm afraid there is more to it than that. You see, Alex, what happened to you was no accident. We do not yet know who hired the sniper, but it is probable that they will try again. They are not like SCORPIA. We cannot negotiate with them. You cannot return just yet."

Alex would have said some very nasty words, if Blunt weren't there. It had taken a while, but he'd almost readjusted back into normality, and to have it snatched away so abruptly was, well, cruel. Not to mention blunt. In the privacy of his mind, Alex burst into delighted cackles at his genius.

"What am I supposed to do, then?" he asked. "I want these people to stop. And I'm not going to join MI6, either, so you can forget about making a deal like that."

The man opposite him remained seemingly unfazed. "Mrs Jones predicted you might feel this way. MI6 would be grateful should you choose to rejoin us. A compromise could be made, regarding working conditions and such."

Alex shook his head decisively. "I'm still a child, and I have stuff to do. Like finishing the football season. A bucket list, and all that. Maybe when I'm older, but not now."

Blunt sighed again. "In that case, we have decided that you may investigate these people on your own, as we do not have the necessary clout or resources to investigate a group apparently targeting just one person, and not one of our employees. However, considering all you have achieved in our employ so far, we are prepared to assist you. Indirectly."

Alex's eyes widened. That was generous of them, or were they bribing him into working for them later? He shrugged. Either way, better not to look the gift-horse in the mouth.

Blunt continued, oblivious. "Obviously, you will require time; we have provided the locations of our various safe houses for your use, as long as you need them. You are free to do as you will, as long as it is within the boundaries set by the law.

"I assume you would like to investigate your attackers away from Britain, because, no doubt, they will attack your school if you remain in it. Mr Smithers has asked me to inform you that he recommends Brazil. Apparently, the weather there is exquisite. Speaking of which, Mr Smithers is waiting outside. If you have no further questions, I will leave you to him."

Alex nodded his agreement, though it was clearly unnecessary as his ex-boss rose from his position and left the room without a word.

Before the door had time to shut properly, Smithers forced his large body and a black briefcase through the doorway.

"Alex, my boy! Sorry to hear about your accident."

The boy in question's mouth stretched into a genuine smile. "Only you would call a failed assassination attempt an 'accident'." Shaking his head, he greeted Smithers with a firm handshake.

When he had seated himself to his satisfaction, Smithers' expression grew serious. "Unfortunately, Alex, the fact that it _wasn't _an accident is why I'm here. You see, my boy, I have a feeling that whatever you do, you won't ever be completely safe."

From the black leather briefcase he'd been carrying, the large man conjured an armful of seemingly-harmless bits and bobs. Alex knew better, though; each and every one had hidden features that he could use on his quest.

Curious, he examined them from where he sat. A few caught his attention as Smithers explained their properties – sunglasses that were mirrored on the inside so that one wearing them would be able to see behind him; a knife concealed within a scientific calculator; the yo-yo from his first mission…

While Alex thanked Smithers profusely, the gadget-master gave the boy one last thing: a nondescript manila folder containing papers for a new identity, so that his assailants would be less able to track him. His job done, the man stood up and, wishing Alex good luck, left him alone once more.

* * *

**AN: So what do you think? I've sort-of worked out a plot, but I'd like your input. Where do you think the story is going? Can you think of any changes you'd like made?**

**P.S. Remember the competition I announced at the beginning of this chapter!**


	4. Chappie 2 - Pulling a Crawley

**Pulling a Crawley**

**To the considerate reviewer, Shamwow:  
I would have written back via a PM, but you weren't logged in (for reasons I can understand).  
Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review – and not just review, but to give some detailed constructive criticism. I'm glad you like the idea :) I realise my characters lack depth… and I hope you bear with me while I try an deepen their motivations more. The minor characters, I'm afraid, will probably continue to lack depth, but when I bring in more major characters they should be more well rounded. ****Thank you once again for being so kind, and feel free to write again if you feel I still am not meeting your expectations :)  
****\- Wolfern**

* * *

Back in his flat, having been discharged from the hospital after lunch – he was still rather bemused as to how un-forcible the staff had been when he'd asked to go; usually they refused to let him leave – Alex made the final round of the rooms, checking that everything was in order.

Bed was made, fridge and bins emptied and state secrets carefully hidden in various locations. Anal retentivity satisfied, Alex walked to his bedroom.

He revelled in the soft carpet under his feet, mournfully acknowledging that, wherever he ended up next, it probably wouldn't be as nice as this flat. The sooner he could finish this, the sooner he could return to his carpet. And the likelier it'd be that he could excuse his absence to his coach.

Reaching the open door to his room, Alex paused. Something didn't feel right. Something... something he'd felt before. Flashes of memories sprang to mind. Snowboarding down a mountain, walking out of the Royal and General, exiting the park...

Just as he identified the common element, a bullet smashed through the window, as if to give him a clue. Huffing in indignation, Alex threw himself to the floor, narrowly avoiding a second bullet. He reached out a careful arm and felt around for his closest packed and waiting bag, pulling it towards himself.

As bullets systematically destroyed his beautiful flat, he crawled along on his belly, using the techniques he'd been taught way back in the FFSAS*. With his bag strap wrapped around his foot, he made it to the front door of his flat and very cautiously reached up to open it.

No bullets greeted him. Always a good sign.

A bit quicker now, he crawled commando-style out into the corridor, then slid on his stomach down the stairs. His body protested at the sharp jolts, but Alex reckoned that any pain was better than getting shot. Anyway, he was sure it looked very cool from the snipers' perspective. Surely.

Reaching the second floor from the bottom, Alex was surprised by a door opening. He quickly hurled himself awkwardly down the stairs, landing in a crumpled – but protective – crouch behind a conveniently placed potted plant on the landing. It wasn't the best hiding spot, but at least all those days of Madame Thornquist, his old drama teacher, telling him to 'be the tree' were coming into use.

Alex snatched up his bag as a figure stepped out onto the landing.

The man from Number 4 looked vaguely familiar, but Alex was hardly ever 'home' these days, spending his newfound freedom out and about, and would be hard-pressed to describe any of his neighbours in any detail. Really, it wasn't entirely his fault they didn't know each other.

Besides, Alex could remember a few times when he entered the front door, seeing piles of mail in Number 4's mail box. So he wasn't the only one. The man on the landing seemed to be away a lot too. So of course Alex couldn't place him.

Squinting, the man on the landing stooped to pick up a book lying on the floor, somehow balancing a mug of steaming tea and a plate of toast in the other.

Just as the man was about to turn around and do some more waking up (Alex was sure even he didn't have bags that big under his eyes), he froze, staring at the slightly scruffy boy. Miraculously, he managed to catch his toast on his plate again as he flipped it into the air.

Cheeks infusing with blood, Alex waved and smiled genially as if blissfully unaware of the odd position he was in. _Be the tree,_ he repeated in his mind like a mantra. _Be the tree._

The tree noticed a distinct lack of bullets, and, deciding to throw off its leafy endeavours, continued creeping down the stairs, studiously ignoring the man staring in bemused wonder.

As Alex reached the bottom, he looked up to see the figure on the landing still staring at him.

"I'll be back," he intoned solemnly, and gave a slightly awkward salute from where he lay on the floor.

Thankfully, the man only nodded mutely and went back inside, taking a slow bite of his toast. Alex, now on his own, continued his meandering crawl to the first floor – alternatively known as the basement, though that sounded creepy so he didn't use that word. Anyway.

Eventually he made it to the doorway into the first floor and poked his head out warily. Satisfied that no crazy gunmen were lying in wait, he crawled over to his battered Ford Prefect, which he'd bought from a strange man who kept looking into the sky at random intervals, and opened the door, dragging his poor, abused body in. Turning the key, he pressed the clutch, moving into first gear.

With a sense of triumph against the odds and a casual hair-flick, he drove off towards the airport.

xxx

The man from Number 4 walked back into his flat, closed the door, and stood a moment, thinking.

His younger neighbour had always been a bit strange, leaving the flat at odd intervals that didn't match up with any school calendar he knew, returning bedraggled and blank-faced, enshrouded with an air of tired triumph.

But this—! This was the icing on the cake. Crouching behind a pot plant? What kind of a person did that? Not even his one of his colleagues, a man he had often wished to dissect just to look at his brain, could match that.

Or could he? The man from Number 4 really didn't want to know. Blinking to clear his head, he set his cup, plate and book on the floor.

He took a deep breath, turned around, and opened the door again in the hopes of confirming that everything was normal. Namely, that there were no boys squatting next to any form of flora.

Sure enough, the landing was free of any human presence.

He shook his head, blinked again, and closed the door. Still preoccupied with thoughts of his odd neighbour, he took a step. And stopped.

Hot tea soaked into his socks. _Drat_. For a few moments, he simply stood there, watching the liquid seep slowly into his sock, reaching up, up for the pale of his leg. Then it started to burn. It _hurt_.

Hopping to the kitchen, the man hurriedly cleaned up the mess. Now he was awake. Pouring another cup of tea for himself, he frowned, pondering. He took a sip. _Ouch_. Way too hot.

Blowing persistently, he wandered over to the phone. He slumped carefully into his couch and placed the too-hot tea on the table beside it to cool. Hesitating only a few seconds, he dialled a number and sat, frowning.

_Ring, ring._

_Ring, ring._

"Come on, pick up," he muttered, tracing a pattern in the armrest. The phone stubbornly refused.

_Ring, ring._

_Ring, ring._

The man from Number 4 took a slow breath to calm himself.

_Ring, ring._

_Ring, ri—_

"You rang?" His friend's voice rang out, deep and ominous. A pause. "You have reached the residence of the Ea—"

"Yes, yes, I know," the man from Number 4 snapped. He was having second thoughts. Would his story be believed? More importantly, would his eccentric colleague get any ideas to explore his more plant-like side after hearing his story?

"…There's no need to be _rude._" The man from Number 4 could hear the italics in his friend's affronted tone.

"You and I both know you're the rude one around here," he grumbled good-naturedly.

There was an even more indignant, "Well!" His friend clearly couldn't think of any response after his outburst and so remained in a long, sulky silence.

The man from Number 4 sighed. It was pointless to make this phone call without going through with his original intentions. "So, I called to tell you about this thing. The funniest thing just happened to me. I was—"

"You haven't been taking any more of those – _vegetable shakes_, have you? Don't lie to me, mate, I know you like the rack of my lamb."

"It's 'the back of my hand'," he corrected absentmindedly. "And if you hadn't interrupted me, you'd know I haven't… though they _are_ good for you. Now be quiet and listen."

Silence. The man took that as an agreement, of sorts.

"As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted…" He waited in anticipation, but was met with more silence, and so continued, "I was getting my mail this morning, you know, after my toast. Well, after my toast and tea. Chrysanthemum, if you were interested. Supposed to be quite good for the eyes and such. I've changed from Earl Grey because having it so much at tra—"

"Get on with it, _please_!" came the inevitable response.

Honestly, his friend only had to wait while he set the scene. These things were important. "I _am_ getting on with it," he said sternly. "Be a little patient. Did you see what I did th— oh, never mind. I was getting my mail when I saw my neighbour from Number 13 – young, blond, a little scruffy –crouching behind the pot plant."

"The plant on the landing outside your flat?"

"The one and the same," the man from Number 4 agreed. "He even waved. And saluted. It was a pretty good salute, too. The big man would have been proud. But it was weird, don't you think? Oh, wait, it's you. Sorry."

His friend growled amiably. "And you do the apology so well. Sometimes I wonder—"

"Where you've been? I do too," he grinned. "Anyway, I thought you and the boys could come over today, seeing as we're all off work for now. Right?"

"Well, actually," his friend had the nerve to sound smug. "I know for a fact that our esteemed boss will be out all day today… with his _girlfriend_… doing _you-know-what_…"

"…You are so childish."

His friend sighed happily down the phone. "I know. Besides, a minute ago I got a call from what's-their-faces. We're going back to work today, buddy. It's urgent, apparently. So much for the break, eh?"

"What about 'our esteemed boss'? He can't come in to work. Isn't he going to be out with his girlfriend?"

"Oh, that's exactly why he's going out today." The smirk in his friend's voice became apparent. "_Family matters._"

"…Oh, no, really?"

"Yes, really. It's just you and I, mate. Together, _forever_!"

He could practically see the hearts travelling through the phone line. "Er, well, that's great. Bye."

"No, wait! Please! Don't leave me! I love you, Sn—"

He hurriedly slammed the phone back down, cutting off his friend's anguished cries. Taking a sip of his now too-cold tea, he sighed. The man from Number 4 was in for a long day.

xxx

As Alex drove, he glanced sideways, wondering which of his bags he'd grabbed. With a growing sense of horror, he took a second glance, and then a third.

Not daring to face the truth, he opened the bag with his free hand.

Yes, he knew which bag he'd taken, and his heart plummeted in response.

It was the smallest one, his 'manbag', as it had been once dubbed by Tom. The one with all his 'essentials'. Fat lot of use they were to him now.

All he had were his fake identification papers including passport and visa, his mobile, toiletries, a first-aid kit, and gum from Smithers. Yes, gum. Of the expansive kind. Not a knife, not a computer-hacking gadget or surveillance items. Nope, he'd lost all of those. He had only enough gum to bust a lock. A small lock. A small, relatively weak lock.

He'd hoped he could escape his terrible luck, but obviously not. Probably never. At least the first-aid kit was useful; Smithers had stocked it, and it contained detailed instructions as well as medicines not normally found in first-aid kits. It even contained bug repellent and suncream, though how they were related to 'first-aid' he would never know.

In resignation, he sighed. Perhaps he should just give himself in.

Instead, he drove on.

xxx

Driving down King's Road, Alex thought back to his escape from his flat. For some reason, he couldn't get his neighbour's face out of his mind. The man was so familiar to him… It was more than the usual neighbourly recognition, and Alex didn't know why.

Ah, well. He could figure it out later. For now, Alex was uncomfortable. Shifting in his seat, he turned on the car's air-conditioning. Despite the day's chilliness, he was sweating. Something was wrong. The back of his neck prickled. Someone was watching him.

Alex checked the rear-view mirror. Nothing. Normal traffic – a taxi, three cars and a motorbike – nothing unusual. He shook his head decisively, and turned his eyes back to the road. He had nothing to worry about.

But he felt no better. Something was still wrong. He looked down to see his bone white knuckles clutching the steering wheel in a grip of death. Taking a breath, he loosened his hold and was entirely unsurprised to feel the wheel slide under his now clammy hands.

Something was definitely wrong. His body was subconsciously reacting to something important. Indicating quickly, he turned left onto Chelsea Manor Street. As he drove past the shops lining the road, his eyes automatically flicked over to the reflective windows and checked for suspicious signs. Nothing, so far. Taking another deep breath, he licked his suddenly dry lips.

Turning the steering wheel, he looped right around Oakley Gardens. Barely pausing to look, he swung right into a U-turn, cutting in front of a lorry. Its horn blared at him angrily as he accelerated in front of it.

Alex looked backwards out the mirror. The taxi he'd spotted before had followed him, and was now behind the lorry. Coincidence? Alex saw conspiracy. He had to lose the taxi somehow.

As he drove through an intersection, the motorbike from before – with its distinctive numberplate, A555 HOL – came out from his blind spot, driving along his left side. He let his foot rest a little heavier on the accelerator, and watched as the lorry turned away.

Speeding down Royal Hospital Road, he passed the National Army Museum, noting with some slight hysteria the cannons across the road. If only he could somehow shoot them–!

Switching to 6th gear, he glanced behind again. Yep, the taxi was still there. But – was that? – it was. The white car he'd noted before – a cabriolet, and Alex recognised the bald driver – was two cars in front of him.

Not watching where he was going, Alex veered dangerously right and hurriedly corrected. The boxy blue car on his right swerved to avoid Alex and drove onto the footpath, scattering pedestrians. Looking behind him, Alex saw the car hit the fence of the post office. There was a sickening scraping as the metal crumpled, the smell of burnt rubber filling the air. Guilt settled into his stomach like an old friend.

Alex continued on, not daring to stop. The lorry from before was behind him, but Alex decided it wasn't chasing him. It had turned away, right? It was probably making deliveries or something. Nothing to worry about.

At 60mph, Alex was way above the speed limit, but he accelerated further, trying to get ahead of the motorbike. To his surprise and dismay, the lorry also accelerated. Of course. It _had_ to be following him, too. He turned left sharply, almost running over the motorbike, but managed to miss it by inches.

Soon, he came to a roundabout. As quickly as he could without rolling the car, Alex turned into it, slowly accelerating, faster and faster with handbrake turns, until no other cars could enter without fear of hitting him or his pursuers. Horns honked, anxious to get through Sloane Square and past Alex, the cabriolet, taxi, motorbike and lorry. What was this, some kind of flash mob?

Concentrating fiercely, Alex passed the King's Road exit, then performed a screeching 180 degree turn to swing back and turn into it, narrowly missing a bus waiting at the stop on the side of the road. The cabriolet, going too fast, continued past the exit, but the lorry tried to follow him. Not quite managing to slow down enough, it skimmed the black fence separating the lanes of traffic, and continued into a shop.

Keeping his eyes on the road, Alex heard, rather than saw, the crash. Not even the thick 'sound-proof' glass of the Ford could quite block out the screams and the concluding _crunch_.

He kept driving, though, nervously checking his wing mirrors. The cabriolet was still in hot pursuit, as were the taxi and motorbike. Thinking quickly, he turned right onto Sloane Avenue again.

Tyres screeching, he turned left, made a sharp right and finally swung around to the highway heading in the opposite direction. The two cars followed him easily, but the motorbike, going a little too fast, was forced to stop and slowly turn around.

Alex smiled. A little bit here, a little bit there… Eventually he'd shake off his pursuers.

Not for a while, though, as the cars in front of him slowed. He looked ahead. A red traffic light stared stonily back at him. Guiltily, he turned onto the empty right hand lane, driving in the wrong direction. Predictably, his followers copied him.

Taking a very sharp left, Alex narrowly missed another lorry, forcing it onto the footpath. A sightseeing 'Tour of London' bus in the left hand lane erupted into cheers at his daring, passengers snapping away with their iPhones and cameras. Once particularly enthusiastic blond tourist on the lower level stuck his head out of the window, flashing his camera in the motorbike rider's face.

Alex held his breath, not daring to hope, but after a little wobble, the rider regained his balance. However, not fully watching where it was going, the motorbike then smashed into a green cab shelter in the middle of the road. The rider didn't look as though he would get up.

A little relieved, Alex continued down the A4. The taxi and cabriolet were still behind him, but seemed content with just following him for the time being.

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking.

Flying past a Tesco, Alex veered into the right lane, in a vain attempt to shake of his tails, which followed without hesitation. He sped through the traffic lights, navigating around a Double Decker bus heading parallel to them. The taxi, not so lucky, was hit by the swerving bus. It came to a screeching stop at the edge of the footpath. The cabriolet drove around it and continued the chase.

Speeding over the Hammersmith Flyover, Alex ended up on the Great West Road. Absently, his gaze turned to the Furnivall Gardens, where Jack had once taken him. To his horror, the motorbike – he'd thought it was a goner – raced towards him through the Gardens. As he watched, it came closer and closer, until…

After attempting to jump, the bike caught on the fence, stopping instantly. The driver, not attached, flew over the handlebars, hitting the windscreen of the cabriolet and rolling into the back seat. The white car swerved, overcorrected, and turned into the brick wall of a building on the left.

Alex slumped, relieved and exhausted. Taking his foot off the accelerator slightly, he slowed back down to below the speed limit, the late afternoon sun glinting off the bonnet. Onwards to the airport.

xxx

"_BABY YOU'RE A FI-REWORK! COME ON LET YOUR CO-LOURS BURST!"_

The students surrounding Alex on the plane seemed almost manic in their elation. Really, it was almost midnight, by his reckoning, and they still hadn't gone through the entire song list in their various iPhones.

"_MAKE 'EM GO 'OH, OH, OH'! YOU'RE GONNA LEAVE 'EM ALL IN AWE, AWE, AWE!"_

He would have been all right if they hadn't decided that every single song had to be belted out for the rest of the plane to hear. It didn't help that they had absolutely no idea of pitch.

"WOOOO!" yelled the girl next to him when the song finished, and he resisted the urge to punch her.

"_I… know a place… where the grass is really greener,"_ sang Katy Perry, oblivious to the young British spy lurching closer and closer to madness. "_Warm, wet and wild…"_

"I LOVE THIS SONG!" screeched the girl sitting in front of Alex. Reaching around to tap Alex's neighbour, she exulted, "OH MY GAWD! TURN IT UP, SOPH!"

Alex sent mental death threats to 'Soph'. He was blissfully ignored.

"_YOU COULD TRAVEL THE WO-ORLD!"_

He could, but he wished these girls didn't have to travel it with him. Sighing, he defiantly pushed his own earphones into his ears in a vain attempt to block out the sound. Apparently, they were 'noise-cancelling'.

"_You'll be falling in love! Oh, whoa-oh-oh!"_

Well, at least the earphones made it a little quieter—

"_CA-LI-FOR-NIA GURLS, WE'RE UNFORGETTABLE!"_

…or not. He wanted his money back. Deep breaths. In and out. In and out.

"_DAI-SY DUKES, BIKINIS ON TOP!"_

This wasn't working. Time for some active protestation.

"_SUN-KISSED SKIN, SO—"_

"Excuse me, Sophie, was it?" he smiled winningly at the girl beside him.

She stared, open-mouthed. "WHAT?" And turned back to her friends.

"_WE'LL MELT YOUR PO—"_

"SOPHIE!" he shouted.

No response.

Well, it wasn't like he hadn't warned her. Before she could react, he had claimed her iPhone and lowered the volume drastically. He knew he wasn't imagining the collective sigh of relief from the other passengers.

Sophie was horrified. "What did you do that for?"

He smiled again, a little forced. "Er, I'm sorry, but it _was_ getting a little loud."

She stared some more. Slowly, she turned the music back to its original volume.

"…_don't mind sand in our stilettos,_" Katy continued, unaware of her short quietening.

Alex sighed. Perhaps the toilets would be quieter. Abruptly, he stood up and pushed past Sophie, who rolled her eyes at her friends as she drew up her legs to let him through.

Arriving at the toilets, he found that the music was little more than background noise. At last, some peace and quiet. Gleefully, he locked himself in a stall and sat down on the toilet after closing the lid.

Shutting his eyes, he imagined clouds. Soft, white, fluffy clouds. _Horizontal _clouds. Lying down on a nice, comfortable mattress.

Very slowly, he drifted off to the sweet sound of silence. Well, almost.

"_Californiaaa… California gu-urls…"_

* * *

***FFSAS: See the profile of control of chaos (formerly SamayouTamashi).**

**Also guys, feel free to start reviewing with references spotted. If you review while logged in or use a consistent review-name, I'll collate the references spotted by each person. You don't have to remember all the references and add them up and then give them in one huge review at the end :)**


	5. Chappie 3 - Greenland

**Chappie Three**

**AN: I would like to announce that I am offering to beta for people :) Check out my beta profile.**

**Also, to all those putting this story on their alerts and not reviewing… some written appreciation would be very much appreciated by me :)  
****I know it's cliché, but I like to know what people think… and remember the competition ^_^**

* * *

Alex stepped off the airport bus, grimacing at the protestations of his joints, turned arthritic in the penetrating cold. He rubbed at his frozen ears, hoping to eke out some measure of warmth.

He'd only seen the safe house as a picture in the list of safe houses provided by MI6, and the real thing looked a great deal smaller than he'd imagined. The cheery blue stood out glaringly from the grey-white tundra of the surrounding environment, and the wooden flowers decorating the eaves made for an interesting contrast to the rock and ice.

Walking carefully so as not to slip, Alex approached the front door and opened it with purple, shaking fingers. God, Greenland was cold. And the smell of fish was terrible, at least where he was. Why did MI6 feel the need to have a safe house here, anyway? Why not in a capital city?

It was lucky they did, though. What villain in their right mind would think to look for Alex in Greenland's country? Hopefully, Alex could set up a plan of action here, then move off – somewhere warmer would be good – to implement it.

Stepping inside the delightfully insulated cabin, Alex closed the door quickly. First things first: find a heater.

After much frenzied searching, he found a console for the entire cabin, and set the temperature to a comfortable 24°C. Neatly tucked into a nook just below the console, Alex also found a stash of money and a charged laptop. Lucky; he would have been helpless without it. Once again, he cursed his hasty escape from his flat and wished he'd brought a more useful bag along.

Settling down to business, Alex booted it up. To his surprise, it flashed a message.

PASSWORD REQUIRED! Not case sensitive. ;)

"No!"

Why would they put a password on a computer where people needed to use it? How was he supposed to know what it was?

Honestly, he sometimes thought MI6 were too paranoid. What was the world coming to, he bemoaned mentally. Passwords in a lonely safehouse in Greenland? What next? Koala bears weren't bears?* Greenland wasn't… green?

He looked back down at the screen, still stubbornly flashing its message. At least there didn't seem to be a timer. There was still _some_ sense in the world.

Now. What could the password be?

Cautiously, he typed in 'MI6'. Would it really be that obvious?

ACCESS DENIED! TWO ATTEMPTS REMAINING!

A pause, then,

PASSWORD REQUIRED! Not case sensitive. ;)

No, it wasn't that obvious. Drat.

The password had to be something that an agent could figure out quickly. It was staring in his face and laughing, he was sure of it. Sighing, he looked around the room. Sadly, no laughing clowns greeted his visual foray. Instead, he saw merely the mundane: kitchen bench, fireplace, table, chairs… Yawn. Briefly, he wondered what a visual representation of a yawn would be. Backwards grawlixes?

Back to the task at hand. An ordinary room, containing an extraordinary… password. Somewhere. Oh, where is the password that fits with this? he bemoaned internally. Where is it? Where? Where?

Then it hit him. The idea was so clichéd that he almost laughed out loud.

Quickly, he stood up and placed the laptop on the floor. Working briskly, he felt about the fireplace, in and around the logs. There it was – a tiny hook in one of the bricks.

With a feeling of triumph, he pulled the brick out and turned it over.

MADE YOU LOOK.

Outraged, Alex threw the brick on the floor and delivered a roundhouse kick to the wall above the fireplace. To his surprise, not only did his foot go straight through the wall, but the brick split open on the floor to reveal a laminated piece of paper.

Deciding to deal with the hole in the wall later, he bent down to pick it up.

DIRTY CHOOK.

What did 'chook' mean? Some kind of slang for a chux? Well, it didn't really matter. Gleefully, he swaggered back to the laptop. Holding his breath, he tried 'dirty chook'.

Nothing happened. Then,

ACCESS DENIED! ONE ATTEMPTS REMAINING!

They didn't even have the decency to alter their program so that it had correct grammar. Alex growled and hit the keyboard – lightly. After all, he didn't want to destroy it and have no laptop, and have to pay for the damage.

What could they mean, 'dirty chook'? Was it all part of a joke? At his expense, because now he only had 'one attempts remaining'! Perhaps it was time to look in that glorious hole in the wall.

When he saw what it contained, he had to restrain the scream of anguish that threatened. For inside the hole was a reasonably large roasted chicken, slightly decomposed and covered in dust. So 'chook' was 'chicken'?

"Dirty chook," he swore, and reached in to get it out.

Inside the chicken was a small, grey box. Inside that was yet another piece of laminated paper, this time with the words:

ON WHAT DO THEY HANG SUCH A CHOOK?

What _did_ they hang it on? Some kind of cooking implement? Alex strode to the kitchen and began pulling out all the drawers, dumping their contents onto the floor. Working quickly, he also emptied all the cupboards. When all the kitchen implements lay in a pile in the middle of the kitchen, Alex sorted through them for all the possible chook-hanging tools. At last, he found it.

It was a long, curved, metal implement, and he wouldn't have recognised it as being a chook-hanging tool but for the laminated paper it skewered. With a feeling of great triumph, Alex read the message.

IT IS A PLACE OF DIRT, YET OF CLEANING TOO.

What was this person's obsession with dirt?

Anyhow, it had to be somewhere in the house. It couldn't be the kitchen as he had already searched quite thoroughly and he doubted that the previous occupant would hide later messages in the same room twice. The only other rooms were the living room, with the fireplace, and there had already been clues there; the bedroom; the bathroom; and the dining rom.

Alex thought for a minute. The bedroom, the bathroom, or the dining room? He decided to check all three, just to be safe.

The carpeted bedroom was empty bar the wardrobe, which he emptied, and a single bed, covered with a quilt. Alex dove into the search, emptying the pillow from its case, rummaging into its filling, taking the quilt cover off from the quilt… To his disappointment, even the mattress was filled only with fluffy white cotton filling. The message-writer had made him cover the floor in fluff for no reason, Alex huffed angrily.

He began to clear up the cotton and shove it back into the various place whence it had come. It was then that he noticed something. Some of the fluff was… sticking. It was as if the carpeted floor with the cotton was acting like Velcro – but it wasn't the entire floor, only in some places, in lines, even. Almost like letters, perhaps.

Could the previous occupant have recarpeted the entire floor? For a mere password?

Alex spread the cotton onto the floor and carefully scraped away the cotton in the areas it wasn't sticking. Surveying his handiwork from the door, a smile grew on his face. The previous occupant had probably been slightly crazy, for the Velcro-like floor did indeed spell a message:

A MUNDANE AND FUNCTIONAL ITEM, WHAT IS THE BASIS OF OUR ENTIRE CULTURE?

How extraordinarily profound. Unfortunately, Alex had no idea what it could possibly be, and so he had indeed covered the floor in fluff for no good reason. He went to look in the bathroom.

Upon his arrival, Alex surveyed the depressingly bare room before he went in. There was one toilet, one shower, one basin, and one roll of toilet paper. There was, however, not one window in sight.

First, he checked the roll of toilet paper. It was an ordinary roll, white and soft. Probably lab tested. It contained no message for him, even when he unrolled the entire thing to look. Oh well, at least the floor wasn't so cold on his feet with the toilet paper covering it.

The basin, too, was – or so it seemed – an ordinary basin. There was one hot and one cold tap, although the hot one took an abominably long while to become so. The water looked clean. The drain seemed to work. No laminated paper appeared when he unscrewed the taps, or when he plunged a hand into the slimy drain.

Alex was supremely thankful his manbag had soap.

Then he decided to check the toilet. Almost able to smell the sweet smell of success – or at least, he hoped that was what he was smelled – he lifted the top off the toilet cistern. Hm, water. Pipes. And… could it be? Yet another piece of laminated paper greeted his frozen grin. So, the basis of the previous agent's culture was toilets?

To his delight, he didn't even have to take it out to read it:

YOU REALLY TOOK YOUR TIME. PASSWORD IS 'BLUNT'. DUH.

Rolling his eyes, Alex replaced the lid of the cistern and almost ran back to the laptop.

Slowly, and very carefully, he typed in 'BLUNT'.

ACCESS GRANTED!

"YES!" screeched Alex.

Now he just had to find an internet connection.

xxx

Much later that day, Alex was trawling through criminal databases, searching for whoever was after him, using a list of suggested sites (and the corresponding list of passwords) that he'd found already on the laptop. For some reason, Club Penguin had been at the very top. Alex decided not to think about that too much. He would be much happier still believing the protectors of his country were above such – he flicked his hair – childish pursuits.

There was also a list detailing preferred accommodation sites in various countries, Greenland included. This particular safehouse wasn't mentioned. Alex sighed.

The first site he went to was a forum, which called itself The Baritones. There was no wondering where they got their criminal inspiration.

_Tony: u watch sopranos the other day? /icycold_

_JenMel69: yea. plannin on doin heist like dat sometime? woot woot eh_

After the first few threads, Alex very quickly closed the site.

The next one was more promising. Titled 'The Omega Sector', the conversations didn't seem to be quite as inane, although Alex marvelled that potential criminals typed so … well, so un-criminal-ly. Even childishly.

_icy: u guys wanna get 2gether friday?_

_fishhead: gonna do more on that kid eh? roflmao amirite?_

_icy: thinking about it… maybe u n yellowfang can help me out lololol_

He wondered who 'fishhead' and 'icy' were, and whether they were important. Looking at most conversations, 'icy' seemed to be pretty ubiquitous, along with 'fishhead'. Perhaps one of the two was the boss, and the other possibly a valuable right-hand man. Either way, they were, at the very least, to his reasoning, reasonably high up.

Eventually Alex decided to create a persona himself, and join in on the conversations. Hopefully, if he could play his cards right, he would be able to figure out who had tried – and was still trying – to kill him.

After some consideration, he came up with the perfect nom de plume. Who better than Shakespeare's tragic hero?

_McBeth: what u talking about? /interested_

A moment went by.

_icy: wtf who r u anyway?_

Delighted, he replied.

_McBeth: new to omega. not new to underworld tho :)_

…

_The user icy has blocked you from this thread._

Alex frowned. What had he done wrong? Was the smiley face too much? He'd thought he was smart, treating them like normal everyday people who enjoyed the occasional happy face, but maybe the clichés were right. Perhaps evil masterminds _weren't_ like normal people.

Just as he was about to create another nom de plume to continue his sleuthing, a pop-up informed him of a new message. He opened his account's inbox. The message was from fishhead.

_Prove your worth. We'll be in contact. ;)_

_-fishhead_

Alex crowed in triumph, reaching for the 'reply' button. Maybe criminal masterminds _were_ like normal people after all. However, as if predicting his next move, the phone rang. Without thinking, he picked it up.

"Hello?"

There was silence.

"Alex Rider," rasped a voice, deep and almost unintelligible.

Alex froze. How had they found him? "How do you know my name?" he responded nervously.

Silence greeted him. A muffled voice, not quite as deep but even more unintelligible, asked, "Did he say— Is it… _him_? icy?"

Cursing mentally, he kicked himself. Now they knew it was Alex Rider on the phone. It was more likely that it was just fishhead, thinking he was talking to 'McBeth'. Considering whom Alex was up against, it was probably child's play to trace an internet connection to a phone.

Then again, why had they said 'Alex Rider' if they had wanted McBeth?

He stopped. The kid they were talking about. It was him. That's why they'd said his name; to introduce the name to 'McBeth'. The evil mastermind behind fishhead was after him. He'd found them, and only on the second try. But who was fishhead?

As he tried not to choke or swear into the phone, the deep voice came again, with a calm and confident promise.

"Greenland, hmm? We _will_ find you, Alex Rider."

_Beep, beep, beep, beep, bee– _

Alex slammed down the phone.

He had to leave. Immediately.

xxx

Before he left, however, Alex had a few things to do: (1) Find a better bag than his manbag and some more clothes, and (2) leave a message for Greenland's next visitor from MI6. These things were important.

The first task was easy; without much looking, Alex found a Samsonite and some clothes in the wardrobe of the bedroom. It was lucky that he was tall for his age, and that MI6 obviously had some smaller-than-average agents. Or he was taking girls' clothes. He firmly pushed the thought out of his mind. If only he'd taken a different bag from his flat.

As Alex was rummaging through the clothing, trying to pick the most flattering out of the ones that fitted, he came across a bundle wrapped in a polar fleece blanket. Upon unwrapping it, he found to his great chagrin, a laptop identical to the one in the other room. Somehow he'd missed it, thinking it was just more clothes, when he'd emptied the wardrobe earlier.

He switched it on and clicked the account called 'Circus'.

And that was it. He was in. No password, no flashing lights, no annoying quest.

It was only his want for a computer to bring with him that stayed Alex's urge to throw it against the wall.

He'd take it with him – it wasn't as if there wasn't another laptop for the next occupant to use. Of course, if he was to take this laptop, it had to be secure. He set it to require a few fingerprints from his left hand, in a specific order: index, middle, ring, middle. His pinky and thumb fingers wasn't important enough to warrant this important task, and the sequence seemed to somehow resonate in his soul.

And with that done, he wondered what to do for the other computer's code. It was demanding to be reset and there were so many choices to frustrate the next occupant of the safe house, just as he had been frustrated…

Alex looked around. What was there? A fireplace with a broken clock on the mantle, the kitchen with well-stocked cupboards, the bedroom... After a little deliberation, it came to him.

With hurried movements, Alex grabbed a pen and notepaper from the coffee table in front of the fireplace. Ripping off the first sheet of paper, he wrote.

_The game is afoot! Look for a book in a nook where you cook._

This first note was placed on the keyboard of the laptop, under the lid. That was easier than thinking of the fireplace. Alex's next note was placed in the oven. It wasn't integral to the quest, but it would be handy. It read:

_You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles._

Reaching into one of the cupboards to retrieve one of the few recipe books (apparently MI6 agents were more fond of 2-minute noodles than home-based cooking), Alex found the section devoted to trifles. With his pen, he circled letters and words from each of the trifle recipes, eventually forming the message:

_I cannot make bricks without clay._

And then, in an Inuit-made clay pot resting innocently on the fireplace's mantle, a fourth note was placed.

_How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the what? – Five lowercase letters._

To complete his victim's quest, Alex changed the laptop's password to 'truth', and set it to reset after five minutes. Whoever had gone before, and allowed only three attempts ever, was cruel. He left Greenland with a sense of satisfaction only slightly marred by trepidation.

* * *

**AN: You may not have noticed my author's note in chapter one, regarding my competition:**

**The person before February 13, 2016 to review with the highest number of pop culture/TV/movie/etc references that I have made (e.g. **_**Staying Alive **_**by The Bee Gees, prologue, "You can tell by the way I use my walk") will win a one-shot from me, of their choice. The prize is limited to fandoms I know (if I can't write it, I'll ask you to choose something else) and the rules of FFNET (nothing explicit, please) :) I reserve the right to ask you to choose a different story.**

**In this chapter, there are several references :)**


	6. Chappie 4 - Brazil

**Chappie Four**

* * *

Alex's next port-of-call was Brazil, as Smithers (and Blunt) had suggested back at the start of this whole mess. He wondered again why he'd chosen to go to Greenland first. It hadn't really been a choice, however – Alex had simply lined up in the closest line, eager to get away. But this time, he made a conscious decision to head to Brazil. After all, what better place to relax after freezing his arse off in Greenland than somewhere renowned for its brilliant blue skies, warm weather and girls? However, Alex was a professional, of course. The girls weren't part of the appeal at all.

Besides, Alex had vaguely remembered Blunt mentioning Smithers' presence in this land of happiness. Why a man of his size would want to go there – where it was so sunny and probably very uncomfortable with the 'extra padding' – Alex didn't know and had a feeling he didn't want to.

Exiting the cool airport, he was greeted with a blast of hot, humid air, immediately sticking his shirt to his back and painting his cheeks red. As he walked over to the long line of taxis, he felt the beginnings of two sweat patches forming under each arm, and a trickle of sweat rolling down his temple. Already, his eyes were drooping, his steps lagging.

Not bothering to check for danger, the blond ex-spy hauled himself and his luggage into a waiting taxi and slumped as he realised that, despite his fervent yet sluggish prayers, the air-conditioner wasn't working. Just his luck.

As if things couldn't get any worse, an annoying whining sound filled his ears, as he realised he'd accidently entered an already-taken taxi. The elderly woman in the seat next to him was haranguing her husband in the front, who in turn was ranting at Alex through the rear-view mirror.

"Now see here, young man: we hailed this cab, fair and square. I don't know who you think you are, but –"

"Let me introduce myself, then. I am the son of Sir David Friend," interjected Alex with a charming smile that failed to reach his crud-filled eyes. "I think you'll find that my business here holds a higher priority than your _holiday. _I have an important meeting to attend and I mustn't be late, so I'm afraid I'll be securing this taxi for the time being. You can guarantee my father will thank you _personally_ upon my return. You can expect some compensation. He will find you."

The couple stared at him. Alex moved his right hand to the back of his jeans, which held a hard sunglasses case somewhat similar in size and shape to a gun, and increased the intensity of his stare.

"Y-yes…" the husband stammered, "quite… quite right. Come on love, let's leave Mr… Friend… to his, er, business…" Pulling his gobsmacked wife by her quivering jelly-like arm, he left Alex free to commandeer the cab as he so desired.

"Pousada Favelinha_, por favor_," was the command to the nonplussed driver, and they were off.

xxx

Back in freezing Greenland, Alex had found a note on the laptop detailing the locations of various preferred places of accommodation for agents in various countries. Alex had a list specific to Brazil, and would check each residence for Smithers. Luckily, the list wasn't long, so he would hopefully have enough time before sundown. If he'd taken a different bag from his flat, he could have used a list of contacts to phone Smithers, but that was in the past, now.

The first place on the list was the Pousada Favelinha_, _a guesthouse, located on the side of a mountain. It was a little way up this mountain that the taxi stopped and let Alex out. Leaving some money and his thanks, Alex surveyed the area, noting the various laneways that ran between each rundown house. Good escape routes, should any issues arise.

He hoisted his manbag onto his shoulder, grabbed the Samsonite, and headed up the stairs winding steeply between the tall trees.

A good double-century of stairs later, Alex was thinking that his football coach would love to come to Brazil with his football team. He'd make them go up ten steps, then down ten, up twenty, then down twenty. Up thirty, then down thirty, and so on and so forth, until they reached the top. No one could say he lacked dedication for his sport: dedication which would likely be expressed in the form of vitriolic words and violent gestures when Alex eventually turned up.

Mindful of his most recent injury to his stomach, Alex was content to take the stairs at a leisurely pace, pausing every now and then to stretch his muscles and survey the many hundreds of stairs still to go. Before he'd left the hospital, the doctor had warned him to 'take it easy and rest often'. Somehow, Alex didn't think the man would be very happy seeing him now. Ah well, never mind him. He had once read somewhere that exercise was good even when sick, and even if it wasn't true (especially for bullet wounds), it was a good excuse and made him feel slightly less guilty.

Finally, after another two hundred steps or so, Alex reached the top on wobbly legs, thankful for once for his relative lack of bags. He looked backwards at the thousands of stairs behind him, feeling as if a dozen males clad in white running shorts and T-shirts should appear around him, running in slow motion to the dramatic notes of a certain fiery chariot. In his heat-addled mind, the runners continued on their triumphant journey to… Was that—?

Alex's heart sank.

There, nestled in the bushes next to the staircase was a little tramcar attached to a wire leading… he traced the line back… back to the city. With joyful notes still ringing in the ears of his imagination, the white-wearing males jogged over to the tramcar and, their movements still slowed by dramatics, got in. They waved to him as they disappeared into the back of his mind.

Yep, the taxi driver, evil man that he was, had led him to the painful route. Stairway to Heaven? Hah! Was it revenge for hijacking the car at the airport? Plain sadism? Alex didn't know. He wished he hadn't left his thanks or the tip.

Magnanimously deciding to forgive and forget about the taxi driver, Alex approached reception, a simple wooden counter raised on the customer's side to hide staff computer screens. The lady who greeted him would once have been quite pretty, in an exotic way. The grin she gave him over the desk reminded him of a predatory cat.

Alex cleared his throat. "Is there anyone here by the name of Smithers? I missed an appointment with him, and..." He paused significantly.

The lady frowned, emphasising the wrinkles she had tried to cover up with foundation and strong, dark eye-shadow giving her eye sockets a bruised look. "Do you hold identification, Sir?"

Alex smiled winningly, presenting the passport he'd used to fly to Brazil.

Tilting her head slightly, the woman scrutinised his passport closely, before handing it back and typing something on the keyboard before her. Eyes roved back and forth while her brow furrowed further. Eventually, she looked up with an apologetic smile. "No one is here, many sorries."

Alex frowned. "How about a man, very overweight, white skin?"

This time the lady sat up and gave a short nod, setting her large, gaudy earrings – and therefore the lobes they were attached to – in motion. "Mr Smith!" But Alex's hopes were dashed almost immediately as she continued, "I am sorry, but he leaves yesterday."

"Did he give any indication as to where he was going?" Alex felt like a detective trying to catch a suspect. However, he didn't expect Smithers would have been so stupid as to leave an obvious trail.

As expected, the woman's answer was negative.

With a shrug, Alex left. Perhaps Smithers, taking a tip from the agents he worked with, was changing accommodation regularly and the Pousada Favelinha wasn't his only place of choice. It couldn't hurt to ask around.

xxx

The second place Alex chose to check for Smithers was Augusto's Paysandu Hotel, which held the temptation of complimentary breakfasts. Surely Smithers would not have wanted to miss that. The leather seats in the lobby gave the place an old-money sort of charm, marred only by the traffic noises from outside.

When Alex had made his way through the narrow, cramped streets, he had been met with the chaotic yet strangely organised Rio paradigm of driving, a game with winners and many, many losers. The cars alternatively accelerated and decelerated with screeching tires and almost constantly wailing horns.

In a sort of ecosystem, each inhabitant of Rio's streets had adapted to their environment in order to survive. Whatever car Alex saw was always either a Fiat or a Chevrolet. Doubtless the Fiat was useful for nipping in and out of tight spots like a rabbit, using its horn most profusely in an indignant squeal while dodging away from its larger counterpart.

The Chevrolet also made good use of its horn in a deep roar to announce its presence as it bullied its way through the hordes. Its drivers enjoyed creeping up and revving its engines suddenly, watching with triumphant smiles as its victims scuttled out of the way.

With these vehicles so accurately balancing each other out, it seemed quite reasonable that despite the congested, wild nature of the streets, there was remarkably little in the way of crashes or injured pedestrians, who had acquired skills similar to the Fiat yet decidedly more mouse-like. They meekly avoided the swerving cars and the drivers yelling furiously out their windows at victims only feet away.

But no one got out of their car. The hierarchy of the streets, with the pedestrians last, ensured that although the inhabitants often suffered road rage, in the next second their anger was forgotten, or aimed at another. Every incident was strictly business; no grudges were carried from one moment to the next. Even if the inhabitants of the streets had wanted to, it would have been virtually impossible and quite, quite pointless to remember the antagonist before they were swept away, never to be seen again.

Travelling to Augusto's Paysandu Hotel had taken almost double the time he'd estimated earlier and by the time he arrived, he was exhausted. Being a pedestrian in Rio meant negotiating the streets with catlike agility and seemingly nine lives – both of which Alex smugly told himself that he possessed… on a _normal_ day. But this was Brazil. It was 27˚C, he'd been shot in the stomach days earlier and he'd just climbed what seemed like a million steps.

Alex shut out the sounds and approached the desk. The receptionist, in clear contrast to the previous one, was young and rather good looking, though she seemed rather angry at Alex for no particular reason.

"I'd like to make an enquiry, please," he began, ignoring her glare. He rushed on without waiting for a response. "Is there a Mr Smithers staying here?"

The girl, still glaring, smiled, making her look slightly constipated. She looked at her screen, clicked a few times with her manicured hands, and returned her gaze to Alex.

"No, Sir."

"What about a man, very overweight, white skin?"

"No, Sir. Not that I remember."

As he turned away, Alex considered that she hadn't protected the privacy of Smithers at all. He could have been anyone – an assassin, tracking a target, a member of the mafia, looking for money...

After a small headshake and tut, Alex's search continued. And all that fuss on the streets for nothing. He looked at his watch. Perhaps searching through _all_ the hotels on the list he'd found would be rather pointless considering the time and effort spent getting to each one. Ah, well.

xxx

The first thing that greeted Alex upon entry in the Golden Tulip Continental was the smell of urine. Now, Alex was not weak of stomach, so a measly thing like that would certainly not put him off his quest. Already, he had braved the odours of raw sewage tempered by salt wafting from the bay, the acrid fumes from the traffic, the saccharine humidity and the overwhelming scent of green. He had suffered through the streets of Rio. This was nothing compared to the trauma outside.

This time, when Alex approached reception, the first thing he was told, without preamble, was: "No rooms!"

Alex smiled politely. "Thanks, but I would like to ask you a question."

The lady frowned up at him as if were a tax man. "No rooms!" she repeated slowly.

Alex widened his smile, resisting the urge to bite her head off literally and figuratively. Perhaps figuratively first. "Yes, I realise that, but is there a Mr Smithers here?"

The lady typed slowly, using only her index fingers. She frowned again at the result on the computer screen. "No." She looked up and her eyes narrowed. "No! Rooms!"

It didn't look as though he'd get any further, so Alex left.

xxx

The man typed on his computer rapidly, spoke into his headset, and continued to type. Alex waited patiently at the desk for one, two minutes. At least this place was clean and a welcome respite from Outside. It was even air-conditioned! Alex decided he could afford to spend a lot of time interrogating this receptionist. "Excuse me."

The man continued typing.

"Sir?"

Still nothing.

"Er, excuse me, I'd like to speak with you."

The man paused for a second, staring at the screen, only to begin tapping away at the keyboard again with renewed vigour.

Alex sighed. Perhaps another tactic would be more effective. In a commanding voice he shouted at the man as if he were the Sergeant. "Sir, may I have your attention, please!"

Like a deer in headlights, the man froze and looked up at Alex slowly. Seeing the unthreatening figure before him, the man forced a perfunctory smile and went straight back to the computer, pointing at the headset meaningfully before resuming pouring out words onto the keyboard.

Honestly, the man was infuriating. In the same commanding voice, Alex shouted, "Sir, I'm here to arrest someone on suspicion of… Well," he leaned in, lowering his voice, "can we talk somewhere else? I'd really appreciate your cooperation… if you know what I mean."

The man looked up with the same guilty expression. "You want… You wish… to talk?" he asked. "Somewhere... in private?"

Finally! Alex nodded solemnly. "In private," he confirmed.

The man swallowed, but looked pointedly at Alex. "Is there any particular reason I should come?"

"What?"

"Sir, you are annoying and stupid. Please stop wasting my time."

"What?" He'd been so eager to help before. What was the problem?

"Please go away, Sir," said the man, flapping a hand at him.

"There's a sign that says you're a receptionist," Alex scowled, indignant. "But you're not receptive at all."

The man looked at Alex with raised eyebrows. "There are many taxis outside, but with an empty wallet there are no taxis at all."

"…Oh." Alex coughed and slid over a Brazilian Real note, which the male receptionist accepted smugly, leading him to a small room with a desk and two chairs.

With another forced smile, he offered Alex one of the chairs and plonked himself down on the other. "What is it you wished to talk to me about, Sir? You are _polícia_, yes?"

"Well," Alex heaved a sigh as if to acknowledge the man's assumption, "I just want to ask you some questions."

"Of course, Sir."

"I assume you know everyone who is in this hotel, and who has ever stayed in this hotel?" Alex drawled, smiling conspiratorially at the man. A little flattery never hurt anyone. Plus, it was better than giving away more cash.

The man took a deep breath and looked slightly perturbed. "I see you already know I have a photographic memory. I remember all our customers. In fact, one time, Mr John Cleese Sir stayed in this very hotel," he boasted.

"Hmm," said Alex noncommittally. "So you would remember, for instance, if a man by the name of Smithers was ever in your hotel?"

"Oh, yes, but no. Such a man was never here. May I ask why it is you need him?"

Alex glared at the man, who cowered into his chair. "I shouldn't be telling you this, really. He's wanted in a major case we're working on," he lied. "So he may have gone under an alias."

The man perked up in excitement. "A major case? I am glad the Savoy Othon can be of help, senhor! You know, we have a complimentary buffet every morning if you wish to stay to work on this amazing case."

"Yes," muttered Alex. "Quite. He's quite a large man, you would remember a man his size."

The man thought for what seemed an age, but was only probably a minute. "No," he said eventually, "no man with big size."

Alex's disappointed look must have alarmed the man, for he piped up again.

"But you may stay here while you look for this man! We will serve you to the best of our abilities!"

The man continued to ejaculate praise for the hotel as Alex left the room.

xxx

Sofitel, despite all its glory, was no help either. Apparently, Smithers had left two days ago, presumably to go to Pousada Favelinha. Thus ended the trail of Smithers. He really would make a decent field agent. Or perhaps everyone who worked at MI6 was like that, no matter their role.

However, before he travelled back to the Pousada Favelinha, it was time for Alex to listen to his stomach. The street vendors beckoned with such welcoming grins that Alex felt as if he should join them and spend the rest of his life following them like some sort of parasite.

Gastronomy was not to be taken lightly, especially considering Alex's limited funds. Ignoring all else, he wandered up and down the street, contemplating each food and comparing them for both price and quality, though he was no expert considering this was his first time in Brazil.

A bikini-clad girl smiled at him, but he ignored her in favour of watching a prawn stew boil. Watching the bubbles push past the prawns to the surface was like watching baby turtles crawling on the sand and into the big wide ocean. He surreptitiously wiped away a small tear.

Eventually, after much bad poetry, Alex approached a bakery emitting tantalising scents, which promised eternal happiness upon entering and savouring the delights within.

A few minutes later, he held a bun filled with seasoned meat and vegetables. It was a metaphor for the Big Bang, he decided, and if he were to drop this specimen, no doubt there would be a small vegetable representing the Earth. Perhaps little bacteria would form on the surface. He really was quite the expert when it came to poetic metaphors.

When he had finished, the dough had dried Alex's mouth slightly, and he decided that he must buy a drink immediately.

_Caldo de cana, _sugar cane juice, satisfied his need perfectly, with its light herbal taste and immense sweetness tempered by a squeeze of limejuice like the juice of sugar cane and lime. Maybe he should bring some to Tom one day.

And then dessert. A woman had sprinkled flour onto a pan, and right before his eyes, with no additions, the powder had turned into a crepe! It was as if she had created an island by pouring sand onto the ocean surface, though the metaphor did the phenomenon no justice. Alex had to try one. Coconut and condensed milk was his choice of filling, and he thanked the woman profusely in what limited Portuguese he'd picked up.

With sticky fingers and a full stomach, Alex found his way to a tram station to return to Pousada Favelinha. Never again would he take the stairs.

xxx

**Disclaimer: I have not been to Brazil, so there may be mistakes in geography, and any comments on hotels or other places are fictional.**

***Just a quick note: koalas aren't bears.**

**Also, have you spotted any references yet? There were some very obvious ones last chapter :D**


	7. Chappie 5 - Brazil Nuts

**Brazil Nuts**

Alex sat with his laptop on the soft covers of the bed in his room.

Somewhat naïvely, he hadn't planned for the event of being unable to find Smithers. It was a sort of hope that had convinced him that when he found the gadget-maestro, everything would turn out. Sitting with the cool breeze coming from the open window – it was probably due to the need for breezes that the window was large enough to fit a whole bed – Alex reluctantly began to formulate a new plan.

His first thought was that fishhead was his only connection to the attackers. Alex had talked to him, just before the call in Greenland. But what else did he know? His skimmed the touchpad, and opened a word document.

He only got as far as two dot points, before he leaned back and surveyed the information.

1\. 'fishhead' and 'icy' were collaborating – at least, both of them had referred to a 'kid', namely Alex Rider.

2\. 'fishhead' had internet access. Or he had a minion, or minions, with internet access.

As Alex scoured his brain for any more information he could add, Alex fitted the points on a neat line each, re-sizing the document so that the points were framed by only a centimetre margin or so, adding a title and by-line, and changing the colours to a subtle charcoal. It suited the shadows that fishhead was shrouded in, he told himself.

With some more thought, he changed the Windows theme to blue. Now fishhead was swimming in the sea, like a true fish. He changed the font to Arial – although fishhead wasn't really a mermaid, it was sort of appropriate – and smiled, satisfied.

What next?

Alex stared at the laptop screen, willing the pixels to bring him inspiration. Instead, they induced a strange hypnotic effect that caused the words to magnify and shrink, until they started to look more like misspellings than actual words.

With a jolt, Alex realised that it had grown darker outside, and he still wasn't any further in his quest. There was nothing more he could remember nor deduce, and he had to get at least something done before dinner. What was more, the laptop was running out of batteries. He connected it to its charger and sat in the corner of the room.

Once more, The Omega Sector was opened, in a vain attempt to squeeze informative juice from the rocky site. It certainly was rocky: one misstep, one wrong word on the site would – almost had – lead to certain death back in Greenland, at least according to the phone caller. For some reason he was particularly metaphorical today. He wondered if it had anything to do with the food he'd smelled outside. While he waited for the page to load and pondered his metaphorical mindset, he absentmindedly changed each letter of the title of the word document – fishhead – into red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet, and, after some consideration, black.

Rainbows were pretty. He looked back at internet explorer.

INERNET EXPLORER CANNOT DISPLAY THE WEBPAGE

Calmly, Alex went to the desktop, disabled the connection, re-enabled and tried again.

INERNET EXPLORER CANNOT DISPLAY THE WEBPAGE

There was something disconcerting about the repetitiveness of the laptops found in Greenland. Alex opened the Network and Sharing Centre, and clicked 'Connect to a Network'.

No connections were available.

AR*GH%PW9#'PF:S4N&amp;F! Alex dropped his head onto the keyboard and pummelled it with his fists. The _pousada _had boasted wi-fi access, for crying out loud! What was he supposed to do now? Investigate the old way, with sources and newspapers and things? Noooooo…

Even worse, the laptop had not appreciated his fit on the keyboard, and had switched views to a blinding blue screen of death, glaring malevolently. All was lost; all the happiness was gone from the world, and he'd never be happy again. Hope was extinguished by the blue screen of death: none remained… except for… except for that white asterisk on the bottom left of the screen. Was that normal?

With trembling fingers, hoping against hope, Alex pressed the SHIFT key and the number eight on the keyboard. Asterisk.

The screen flashed black. Alex's heart lurched.

And then, as if pouring all the colour and warmth back into the world, a stream of information appeared on the screen, pages and pages of any transmissions he had made or received. Looking closer, Alex could see that they detailed auxiliary information, like the locations of the transmissions and even a special-looking number that was obviously supposed to identify the person's IP address or something. Eureka!

His eyes skimmed the words, eventually landing on _". (fishhead). Location: Brazil, Rio de Janeiro, Ipanema."_

fishhead was in Brazil? Even more alarming: he was in Rio? What a coincidence… It had to be coincidence. It had to. Unless Blunt had somehow known, already, and Smithers was in on it…? Perhaps they couldn't have told Alex directly, and Blunt had been trying to give Alex a hint.

Unfortunately, that was it. Whatever tracking devices the laptop used could not be any more specific, so without knowing which house fishhead lived in, the man was hidden from him. This called for some old fashioned investigation.

But first, sleep.

xxx

Ten o'clock the next day saw Alex exiting the _pousada_ and catching the tramcar down the mountain, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Well, his eyes weren't so much bright except in contrast to the dark circles surrounding them, and the bushy tail was mainly the rumpled bed hair he was too lazy to brush.

The laptop, despite its imprecision, was still good enough to provide a rough area of where fishhead may have been during that particular transmission. Alex had decided to start at one corner, and scour the patch until he found a possible lead.

The tramcar deposited Alex outside a large white building, in the middle of a terrace paved with white stones. Palm trees ringed the area, and tourists milled about in couples, murmuring and pointing at the white building. While Alex would have loved to stay and learn all about the architecture and significance of the place – there was a large man proclaiming to give the best tours in the world, for the extra special price of only 20 Brazilian Real! – he had to get moving.

But how to get to Ipanema? Alex didn't want to waste time, but neither did he want to stand out as a tourist. It could be dangerous to stand out as an outsider. Besides, he'd always appreciated Ian's version of holidaying, where they blended with the locals. It felt weird otherwise, and he'd hated the awkwardness of visiting Venice surrounded by schoolboys who didn't know how to keep their enthusiasm in check. The teachers had been no better, excited by the 'exotic' place they were visiting.

Once more, the loud man caught Alex's attention – how could he not? His booming voice permeated every inch of the area. But it wasn't the tour the man was promising; he'd already lured in a middle-aged couple, slightly overweight, wearing designer polo shirts and Gucci sunglasses. Apparently, this place was home to a fantástico subway station, which went all the way to the faraway city of Ipanema, and it was lindo maravilhoso! It was also just where Alex wanted to go. How convenient.

Discretely, Alex followed the trio to the correct subway.

xxx

Tantalising smells greeted Alex upon exiting the station, and a quick look around revealed the source. A bakery, yellow on the outside, called with a smiling front. Alex went. fishhead could wait.

The inside was just as charming as the outside, with dark wooden floors and furnishings, and warm lighting that accentuated the smiles on people's faces as they received their parcels of glory. The counter itself was a treasure chest, displaying wares as fine as any Swarovski display case, with ten times the temptation for less than a tenth of the cost.

Alex read the little placards (which had English translations) with growing glee: fried beef pastries, golden and steaming; sourdough loaves sprinkled with coffee crystals. The coconut sweet bread caught his eye and held his attention for several minutes, but eventually it was the cheese buns, _Pão de queijo, _that stole his heart – or rather, his stomach.

Smiling to the girl at the counter, Alex bought a small bagful and held it in both hands as though receiving a precious gift. Well, he was. It was a very happy Alex that left the bakery.

From there, munching on his breakfast, Alex ambled to the _Jardim de Alah,_ the Garden of Allah, a place of palm trees and grass edged with water on opposite sides. Dark clouds filled the sky from behind the distant mountains, threatening rain, but for the moment, taking no action. Light suffused the grass and trees with an ethereal quality, and painted the water a dark gunmetal grey.

There weren't many people in the garden, but Alex spotted a particularly friendly looking man, walking his dog and looking with a frown at the dark clouds. "Hello, do you speak English?" Alex greeted him.

The man looked at him. Alex withdrew his phrasebook from the subway station with a flourish, and tried again. "_Você fala Inglês_?"

No luck; the man shook his head and continued walking.

Disappointed, Alex looked around for someone else to enquire about fishhead. A girl of about university age, holding a large textbook, was his next choice. Hopefully, she was educated and had been taught English. "_Você fala Inglês_?"

The girl examined him with suspicious eyes. "Yes."

In front of the bemused girl, Alex sighed with relief, "A-ha!" he cheered. "Ahem. Do you know of someone called fishhead?"

The girl stared at him blankly, and started walking away. Quickly.

"Hey, wait!" Alex jogged after her, but she too broke into a jog, and soon he was chasing her at full pelt down the pathway.

Eventually, the girl ran up to a man, older than Alex and taller too. Alex took one look at the man's menacing face, and decided to cut his losses. Before he left, however, he called tentatively, "fishhead?"

The man's face contorted into a snarl.

Obviously not.

As he left the park, the gods of the sky finished their bureaucratic rumbling and filled the air with a torrent of rain that hammered down like a thousand gavels carrying judgement from the heavens. The palm trees, previously sedate, were whipped into an indignant frenzy.

Alex sought cover under the shade-cloths of some shops surrounding a square with a large stone pole in the middle. A plaque beneath the pillar proclaimed it to be "_O Obelisco de Ipanema" – _the Obelisk of Ipanema, he translated with his handy-dandy phrasebook.

Even under cover, the rain continued to beat a rhythm on Alex and his phrasebook, so he decided to seek cover inside one of the shops behind him. The particular shop that Alex entered looked to be more of a café than an actual shop, selling lunch alongside coffee and cool drinks.

Once more, Alex found himself surveying the various foods for sale, with the practised eye of a gastronome.

Behind the separating glass pane, black bean and meat stew stimulated Alex's salivary glands; pastry envelopes filled with all manners of goodies drew his gaze; other stews with seafood, tomatoes and eggs exuded steam filled with promises. Well, it wasn't like he was going anywhere anytime soon. And he might as well eat now – who knew when he'd next find food? Especially with the finding of the mysterious girl who had seemed to recognise fishhead's name.

But it was the _espetinhos _that Alex finally chose, with simple chunks of chicken on skewers providing a familiar sight and guarantees of enjoyment. To wash it down, Alex paid a little extra for a free açaí smoothie.

Casting an eye out the window to the chaotic scenes outside, Alex sat down to wait.

The food arrived pretty quickly, emanating smells that assured Alex of his good choice, despite the odd purple colour of the smoothie. He lifted a skewer and took a bite. The skewer dropped from trembling fingers, which sought out the smoothie. Clearly, the food was very fresh; Alex's tongue throbbed in burnt indignation. However, strange-looking though it was, the açaí smoothie provided a brief respite from the heat.

This time, when Alex went to take a bite, he approached the skewer cautiously, testing its temperature with his teeth. In mere minutes, both food and drink were gone, leaving the plate and glass empty.

With the satisfied sigh of a man whose stomach has been filled to satisfaction, Alex leant back in his chair. The storm outside had subsided a little, leaving the trees bedraggled and surrounded by the musty smell of petrichor.

Alex emerged to this scene, along with several other shopkeepers who opened their doors once more and set up tables outside. They showed great dedication, Alex mused, persisting to provide alfresco dining despite the many thunderstorms. One shopkeeper seemed to go beyond a mere defensive strategy, and was standing on a nearby hill waving a fist in the air, covered in copper pots and shouting, "_Todos os deuses são bastardos_!"

Alex shook his head and continued on his quest.


	8. Chappie 6 - Fishy in Brazil

**Something Fishy in the State of Brazil**

Early that afternoon, Alex perused a market square, which was filled with various stalls selling fruits and vegetables, as well as trinkets and other miscellaneous objects. Above his head hung a sign saying _Praça Nossa Senhora da Paz_, and there was a monument in the middle of the square, with a statue portraying a man with a moustache standing upright. He had nothing on Christ the Redeemer, decided Alex.

He wandered the square, asking the vendors whether they spoke English. So far, no-one did, although most of them said 'no' rather than '_não_'. Or perhaps he was pronouncing the words given in the phrasebook wrongly.

A souvenir stall stood out. Maybe he would have luck there – if they sold to foreigners, they probably spoke English. The man at the stall was young, only about twenty-seven or so, with a welcoming smile. "_Pois não_? You buy something?" He swept a showman's arm across the football jerseys and Brazilian flag-adorned towels.

Alex returned the smile and lied through his teeth. "Probably."

"Take your time, don't worry! You looking for present for girlfriend? I have many choice."

Alex nodded thoughtfully. If he bought something, it might endear him to the stallholder, and give him more luck with finding answers. "So, er… I guess you know what girls like, right?"

The man nodded, flopping his hair all over the place. "Of course! My sister, she tells me what girls like, she tells me their secrets." He leaned forward conspiratorially, "She is not so much girl as other girls – she prefers to catch fish instead of cook, if you know what means – but she knows girls. She _is_ one!"

Alex laughed along with the stallholder, trying to hide his bemusement. He pretended to study the towels. One had the words 'Don't Panic' inscribed in large friendly letters.

On and on, the man continued, "In fact, she like fish so much we call her 'Cabeça de Peix'... You know what that means? Cabeça means head, yes?" He smiled. "She don't like that too much, but she like us too much to punch too hard." His eyes lit up. "Here, she come now – Peix!"

A girl approached, carrying a large wicker basket full of fish on her head. She stopped and glared at the man, and then shouted a Portuguese word that sounded a lot like an insult to Alex's ears. Alex was shocked. It was the girl who had run away when he'd mentioned the name 'fishhead'. What luck!

The stallholder bore the insult with good grace. "_Um beijo_! Come and tell this guy what girls like!"

Her eyes drifted over to Alex, and widened. She dropped her basket of fish onto her brother's stall, and turned. Her skirt fluttered as she swept around the corner.

All of a sudden, the clues that had collected in Alex's subconscious connected, as if his mind had hidden a Belgian detective much smarter than he_._ The girl – cabeça de peix – head of the fish – _she_ was fishhead! How very sexist of him to assume fishhead was male.

He muttered a quick farewell to the astonished stallholder, and rushed after her.

The stalls rushed past him in a blur of startled faces and rolling oranges. He jumped over watermelons and bananas, trying hard to avoid geese running between his legs, honking madly. It was lucky that she had such long hair; it helped him recognise her from behind, and slowed her down.

"Excuse me," he cried, as well as "sorry!" and "fishhead!"

From what little he noticed of the faces he passed, he must have looked crazy.

Eventually, the girl, fishhead, rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. Alex followed her around the corner, but found no trace of her: not under the stalls, not up any trees, not anywhere. Clearly, she knew the area much better than he.

The food Alex had eaten was protesting, squeezing his stomach hard and threatening to jump up and out his throat. Maybe he shouldn't have eaten so much. But it had tasted so _good… _He bent over, hands on knees, panting hard and trying not to collapse.

First the escape from his flat back in Britain, then the staircase to the _pousada, _and now this. His doctor wouldn't be pleased. Alex abandoned the chase (although, more truthfully, it was the chase that had abandoned him) in favour of a long walk on the beach as he attempted to figure out how to return to the _pousada_. If he never visited the beach while in Brazil, he'd never forgive himself and neither would Tom.

Digging his feet into the warm sand, Alex shoved his hands in his pockets, passing a group of youths standing in a huddle, staring at their feet. A closer look revealed that they were playing football. Alex's hands clenched in jealousy, thinking of the games he was missing back home, but he kept walking. He had things to do.

xxx

Dusk on Ipanema Beach was an ineffable sight, the setting sun casting golden rays across the blue water and grey sand. The air was cooler at this time, and Alex basked in the refreshing chill.

Even now, the beach held a lot of people, irritating Alex, who just wanted a quiet spot to relax after his strenuous chase. The rocks at the end of the beach were fairly devoid of life though, so he wandered over and sat down with a sigh, closing his eyes.

Before he knew it, he was blinking himself awake and wondering at the darkness that surrounded him. Checking his watch, he saw that it was almost two in the morning. A surge of annoyance ran through him.

What kind of a spy was he, that he fell asleep without meaning to? He wouldn't have fallen asleep before. If only he'd been able to catch fishhead. What kind of a spy was he, that he couldn't outrun someone? How could he have let her go so easily? She had a skirt on, and her hair was abnormally long. _She_ should have been the one struggling, not him. He was supposed to be a spy, supposed to be trained, fit, fast.

Alex closed his eyes. If only fishhead was a little slower. If Alex had realised sooner and stopped her from running off. He was always so _slow_ after being in hospital_._ If only he hadn't been shot. If only – he flicked a stone.

His eyes snapped open as he felt the ground give way beneath him.

With a WHUMP, Alex landed in an empty room with concrete walls and floor. Well, that was a surprise. He stood gingerly, brushing off the cobwebs that clung to his clothing. With careful steps he slunk over to a hole in the wall emitting some light, and peeked through.

It was fishhead! She sat at a wooden desk, typing into a laptop. What luck, again! Perhaps the gods were smiling on him after all. For now, she hadn't noticed him. He crept closer. Restrain the target first, obtain the info later. He stood just where her blind spot would have been, were she a car.

Unfortunately, Alex realised too late, people weren't cars. She turned towards him and gasped, withdrawing a gun from somewhere within the folds of her skirt before he could take another step.

"Do not move!" she shouted, pulling the safety back.

"fishhead," he pleaded to her better nature, raising his hands obediently.

His plea was ignored in favour of waving the gun threateningly. "Do not call me fishhead! You think I am fishhead?"

Alex scowled. Was this girl really going to deny it? "I don't think; I know."

"You do not think you know?" she laughed scornfully.

"No, I know I know!"

fishhead scoffed triumphantly. "You sound like a parrot."

He blinked. What a strange retort. "But… you _are_ fishhead, aren't you?"

Her reply was a mixture between a shrug and a nod that ended up as an odd twitch. "Come sit," she beckoned, gesturing with the gun to the chair.

Alex looked from the girl to the gun and back again. "I'd rather stand."

fishhead rolled her eyes and repeated her command. He sat. Reluctantly.

"Now," she began, "you wanted to talk to me?"

Nonplussed, Alex could only nod mutely.

"You are 'McBeth'?" she prompted.

Alex nodded once more. "You've been trying to kill me," he accused.

"Not killing," she admonished, lightly tapping him on the head with the gun and ignoring his flinch. "Only scaring."

"Scaring?" Alex yelped indignantly. "You call that _scaring_?"

"Oh, please," she sneered, "so _fragil_. In Brazil, no man is weak as you."

Alex decided to change the subject. "Why _are_ you scaring me? Couldn't you have waited until _after _the football season?"

fishhead twitched again, this time a shrug and a shake of the head. "What football? No questions from you, little _menino_."

"I'd like it very much if you stopped _scaring_ me, then. And brought me home to finish my matches."

"You want to finish matches? Oh, ho!" howled the girl, holding her stomach to emphasise how ridiculously hilarious she found him. "Now the _prisioneiro_ demands!"

She seemed to be waiting for a response, even going so far as to raise her eyebrows pointedly. Alex mumbled, "Er, yes."

"Yes," she whispered, suddenly inches away from his ear, the gun still pointed at his temple. "But, little _menino_, demands must have the way to enforce, no?"

Bereft of a better response, Alex mumbled, "Er, yes," again.

fishhead pouted at him, disappointed. "Does the little _idiota_ not understand?"

"…Er, no."

The girl eyed him critically, the same way he imagined she'd eye one of the fish she caught. With an exaggerated sigh, she brought one of her hands in front of Alex's face and slowly, palm up, rubbed the tips of her fingers with her thumb. Leaning in even closer to Alex's ear, she breathed, "Money, _estúpido_."

Ah. "How much?"

The girl leaned back, smiling. "Now the little _menino_, he understands!" She studied her nails. "The amount, it should be great, yes?"

Alex performed his approximation of her second twitch, the shrug and shake of the head, and did not speak.

"What about…" She looked into the air, squinting her eyes at some now not so faraway treasure trove. "Ten thousand?"

With a little thought, Alex calculated that ten thousand Brazilian Real was around three thousand pounds. Maybe MI6 would pay the expenses. Three thousand was nothing to them.

Then again, the girl probably wanted the money from him as soon as possible. It was unlikely he'd be able to get even three thousand pounds without having to jump through all kinds of tedious red-taped hoops.

Well, it was lucky he had around fifteen thousand Brazilian Real back at the _pousada_. He had been so overjoyed when the money-changers had told him that he had around fifteen thousand in cash. Even if it worked out as different as pounds, it was still nice to be able to carry around fifteen thousand units of money. Now he just had to convince fishhead to lower the cost, and then to let him go and fetch it.

The girl's gaze snapped back to him as if sensing his thoughts. "Dólares americanos, of course. So actually twenty thousand Brazilian Real, yes? I give to you a discount."

There was no way he could pay that kind of money. "No," he protested, "do you want to bleed me dry? I only have ten thousand Brazilian Real." There was no harm a little white lying. Especially in this kind of situation.

Shrugging, the girl shot back, "Ten thousand? You compare that to twenty thousand? Hah! It is too little. Selling fish, it is good pay, but it is not enough. At least _eighteen_ thousand, or you will continue to be _scared_."

Alex sighed dramatically. "My financial situation will be scarier than losing my life. You must accept eleven thousand."

The girl exhaled noisily, louder than Alex. "I will never eat again!" she proclaimed. "I will not accept anything below sixteen thousand. That is my last offer, _inglês_."

Briefly considering heaving an even more obnoxiously pronounced sigh, Alex instead opted to shake his head wildly as if confronted by his worst fear. "No, no, no," he whined, "that is impossible! I will die before you receive it. No, this is _my_ last offer: thirteen thousand."

Pursing her lips, the girl removed the gun from his temple and stalked around the room, muttering. Alex attempted to discern what she was saying, but stopped after he heard her growl, "_Estúpido!_ Little _menino é tão estúpido_! _Idiota_!" He had a feeling she was calling him stupid.

Eventually, she returning to the chair she had placed him in and replaced the gun against his temple. "Okay, _menino_, I accept _fourteen_ thousand Brazilian Real_._ Although, the sleep, it will never happen again. You will bring me this money before the sun, it rises tomorrow, yes?"

"Er, yes." At least he still had _some_ money. And access to MI6's endless supply of funds, though he couldn't withdraw it into hard cash.

For a second, she paused, before kicking the chair with him over and brandishing her gun, still with the safety off. "Go, go go!"

He stumbled to his feet and ran into the other room. He had to get all the way to the _pousada,_ count the money and get back in about – he checked his watch – two hours. Definitely not the stairs. He'd had enough exercise today. But, his brain cried out, not _nearly_ enough sleep.

Alex scaled the ladder to the surface, chased by the sound of the girl – he still only knew her as fishhead – yelling after him in her fishwife's voice, "_Apresse-se, seu imbecil!_" Whatever that meant.

xxx

The tramcar couldn't move fast enough for Alex, who watched the hands of his watch desperately. He watched as the tramcar slowly rounded the corner into sight, unhurriedly approaching the stop. Alex contemplated leaping on before it properly stopped, and threatening the driver as he had at the airport taxi rank, but dismissed the idea. It wouldn't do to create a scene, and two hours was surely long enough. Surely. He leapt on as soon as the doors began to open.

Five minutes passed and the shadows grew longer. The chatter of the people around Alex would normally have been soothing, creating an atmosphere for him to just disappear into, but not now. Now, their inane conversations emphasised the meaningless of their lives in contrast to what he was going through. None of them had been forced into a life of danger and irregularity, forced to give their lives for the sake of huge populations.

Another five minutes passed. What was the tramcar _doing_? It was waiting at the stop as if some other passengers would turn up out of the sand before it was forced to move on. Finally it lurched into a ponderous crawl that made Alex want to howl. The woman beside him was rabbiting on about her son who was such a disappointment, gone to sell Western trinkets – here she gave Alex the evil eye – while her daughter was off acting like a boy, a fisherman. Alex tuned her voice out, turning his attention instead to the sluggishly passing landscape outside.

The sun was setting over the coastline, painted streaks of gold over the water and tingeing the edges of the trees on the side of the mountain pink, while the sky was stained with a mix of ultramarine and indigo. As Alex watched, the moon appeared, and the first few stars started to twinkle.

He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes had passed altogether, and he was only just over halfway back. He took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and stared solidly out the window.

A grizzled old man sitting opposite Alex was humming a low, sombre tune that mingled with the echoes of wind threading through the trees along the mountainside under his breath. The traffic could still be heard even so far away, but now they faded to the background, overcome with rustling leaves and the creak-creak-creaking of the tram wheels.

He looked at his watch again. Twenty-five minutes. Breathe.

The petrol smell had also faded, in lieu of the musk smell of freshly rained-on earth, and flourishing greenness. Here, nature ruled supreme, the rainforests encroaching upon the blocks of flats and shops, like a creeping spider reaching out with its green tendrils to seep into the cracks on the footpath.

Sturdy and modern though the buildings were, the rainforest would be there at the end of the earth, consuming abandoned buildings and taking back what was built by humans for only a small blip in the life of this ancient place.

Finally, the tram arrived, shaking Alex out of his despondent musings. Before it had completely stopped, he was standing and as soon as it _did _stop, he jumped off and hurried to the _pousada_, checking his watch as he trotted as quickly as he dared_._ The whole trip had taken half an hour. That left an hour and a half; an hour if he set aside the half-hour he needed for the trip back to fishhead.

Distractions and serenity of the tram gone, Alex's stomach was taking the opportunity to announce its hunger to him, and his brain was joining in with sleepiness – couldn't he have rested some more on those comfortable rocks? Against these combined forces, his legs bravely carried him with their remaining strength over to the stairs to his room. Thank the Lord he hadn't had to climb the stairs outside the _pousada._

The receptionist – how many hours did she work anyway? – showing the same persistence as any of Alex's teammates, stalked up to him with a great smile not unlike that seen on a crocodile. Her white teeth gleamed in the dim light.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go," he stammered, but she laid a hand on his arm, restricting all movement.

"Is the young man hungry? I can feed him well."

Alex's traitorous stomach made its complaints loudly, and as he flushed, the woman gave what must have been a tinkling laugh, once, long ago, but was now comparable to the sound of shattered glass thrown at a squawking parrot. He felt sick. She took a long drag of her cigarette, blatantly ignoring the 'No Smoking' rule on a poster beside the door.

Shaking his head violently seemed to have no effect on the receptionist: she tightened her grip and said, "I can show you good food, satisfy you."

"No, thank you; I _really _must be going." And with that, Alex wrenched his arm out of the woman's grip and stumbled up the stairs and into his room. He shut the door behind him and leant against it with a sigh of relief, not daring to close his eyes for more than a second.

He checked his watch: less than an hour to go before he had to leave; a while yet, but he wanted his sleep and some food, dammit! With large strides and a determined glow in his eyes, Alex went to the safe in the wardrobe, and opened it, withdrawing a large wad of notes.

Alex counted out the money demanded by fishhead and recounted it, just to be sure. He then looked around for a safe way to carry it. He couldn't tie it around himself; he'd have to take it off for fishhead and there was no way he was undressing more than he had to in front of her. The only bags he had were the Samsonite and his manbag. The Samsonite would mark him out as a tourist, easy pickings for thieves.

That left the manbag. Steeling himself against inevitable mocking that would follow him should he carry this bag around at this hour, he shoved the bundles of money inside the bag and picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy, so he removed some of the other items he had placed inside it. Damn the attackers for forcing him out his flat with no chance for thought.

Alex tried not to imagine laughter surrounding him as he left the _pousada _once more, scurrying round the bottom of the stairs and out the door before the receptionist, who was painting her toenails, could even move towards him. Once again, Alex was forced to wait for the tram, constantly looking his shoulder for the receptionist. Just when he was considering taking the stairs, the tram appeared.

Patiently, Alex waited for it to stop, people to step off, and finally to board. The driver had taken up the old man's tune and looked the very picture of a man grown weak and complacent with life. Alex shuddered to imagine ever becoming like that. He estimated that he had about twenty-five minutes left before sunrise. Counting the money had taken longer than he'd expected.

Soon, it seemed as though the court in the heavens had heard the driver and old man's song, and wept for their loss of youth, pouring a cascade of water onto the canopy of the mountain. Alex's hair grew damp very quickly from a small hole in the roof. With a deafening _crraaack, _a branch broke off a nearby tree and thudded over the top of the tram. The passengers seemed not to notice, though Alex instinctively clutched the manbag and its contents closer.

He had estimated that he had fifteen minutes left before sunrise, but he could just see – although perhaps it was his imagination – the first tendrils of sunlight stretching awake in the distance. His stomach lurched, but he reasoned that it was better late than never and maybe he could bargain with fishhead.

Protecting his manbag by holding it to his body, Alex swiftly navigated the streets to the beach, and finally into fishhead's lair. It was a few minutes past four o'clock. She was sitting at her desk with her gun, as composed as ever. It even looked as though she had brushed her hair.

"Are you having the money?" she demanded, without looking up.

Alex responded in the affirmative, panting a little. She was down here, so she couldn't have seen the first light outside. And he was only a couple of minutes late if she'd also estimated four o'clock as sunrise.

Her face broke into a large smile, much prettier than that of the lady at the _pousada._

"And you won't… 'scare' me anymore?" he persisted.

She frowned. "What you take me for, dishonest? I am reliable _pra caramba_!"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not one to take chances. Could I at least have your word, a promise? Perhaps in writing? A witness, perhaps a counter-signature?"

fishhead contemplated his request for only a second, then also shrugged. "Okay. I will not be scaring you or any of your friends, and my workers will not either. No writing. Okay?"

"Yep." He held out his hand.

"_Imagina,"_ she said, and took it.

And that was that. Everything he had gone through… over. He could return to England and play for the rest of the season. Life was excellent.

Alex left the lair feeling exultant, but once more plagued by stomach and brain. Despite his stomach's vocal assertions, though, his head won the battle and he decided he was much too sleepy to eat. Just a quick nap in the _pousada_, or maybe those surprisingly comfortable rocks… He decided on the _pousada_, since the rain was still thundering down.

* * *

**AN: This wasn't too crazy, was it? I find myself awfully disheartened when it doesn't appear if anyone's reading this... Even if it's just a quick 'haha' or 'this was very bad', could some of you find it within yourselves to leave a small comment on how this story is faring?**

**You could even try to predict what's going to happen next :D (and don't forget the competition...)**


	9. Chappie 7 - Hot Brazilian Nights

**Hot Brazilian Nights**

By the time the tramcar deposited Alex once more at the entrance of the _pousada_, it was about half past four in the morning and the temperature was _still _abominably high. He'd thought the pouring rain would lessen the heat, but he felt no difference. Unable to focus for more than a second, Alex's tired, hungry brain directed his body up the stairs, and to his room, waving a limp hand at the receptionist to keep her at bay. There, he removed all clothes save for boxers, and collapsed onto the bed, feeling exhausted but relieved.

He'd wake up when it was a bit cooler.

As he relaxed into the mattress and closed his eyes, Alex felt something gnawing at his stomach, a small dark creature with no distinct form except that it had a singular head filled with vicious teeth. When he tried to swat it away, it sprouted another head, which bit his hand and glared at him with glowing eyes.

Its body was growing – soon it had swarmed over his whole torso as its warm, wet breath clung to his face and chest. More heads spouted, twisting and huffing and giving off an angry, acrid odour. It sucked away all the moisture in his body to wet its own mouth.

Alex retched. After expelling his bodily contents onto the heads, which lapped at his sick greedily, he tried to take in a breath. No air came. His heart, following his vomitus, filled his mouth, blocking the entrance to his trachea. Its beating matched the drums sounding in his ears. He tried not to burst it with his teeth.

In vain, Alex tried to spit his heart out. It wasn't working. Perhaps it was his fear that stopped him. He worried that, having rid himself of his heart, all his other organs would follow and he would be left with just the outer layer of his skin, lying in the red, wet puddle of his insides.

But he had to breathe! He shoved his heart to one side of his mouth and gurgled air around it – but no, his heart was growing, pumping sickly sweet blood that filled his mouth and lungs. He shuddered, sinking his teeth into his heart, but that only released more blood and still his heart pounded away in his mouth. The creature paid him no mind as its heads took turns eviscerating his stomach.

Now his heart launched itself into the back of his throat, choking him, suffocating him. Imagine if he died now, he thought, asphyxiated by his own heart. Blood leaked from the corners of his eyes and he convulsed, weaker now, onto his side. He stared apathetically at the door and felt his heart, thudding in his mouth, beginning to slow. With the lethargy of a dog sentenced to death, he rolled onto his front, onto the floor.

The impact shocked him awake.

The creature and blood disappeared, replaced by a gnawing hunger. But the smell of blackness remained. It was dark, and Alex felt around for the light switch to the lamp on his bedside table. Just a dream, just a dream… His searching fingers paused in their journey.

That smell… was familiar. It was important. Alex's mind placed it in the kitchen, from the toaster…

Smoke!

He looked wildly about and noticed the black air surrounding him. Hysterical laughter bubbled to the fore and he choked out a hoarse whisper, as if there was someone to hear, "Where there's smoke, there's fire!" He couldn't see the red-orange flicker of flames in his room; it must be the rest of the _pousada_ that was burning. Instead of burning to death, he would be asphyxiated. But it was still raining outside. How could the _pousada_ be on fire? The fire must have been lit by someone…

It must have been fishhead! That bitch hadn't kept her promise. And she'd seemed so sincere!

But that was beside the point now. He had to escape. Already, it felt as though he were in a furnace. Stumbling to the bathroom with stinging eyes, he grabbed the wash towel, and ran it under cold water. Luckily, it was big enough to wrap around his nose and mouth. He crawled to the door and put his hand to the knob.

Alex jerked his hand back. The fire was obviously very close on the other side of the door, because besides the loudness of the roaring fire, the doorknob was searing hot. How could he be so idiotic? Had Ian taught him _nothing_? Mindlessly, he ripped the bedclothes off and stuffed them against the crack under the door. Hopefully, it would mitigate the fire and smoke.

Crawling to the window revealed another problem: the window was glued shut, presumably by fishhead. She'd really wanted him to die this time. 'Scaring', his arse. Though he heaved with all his might, it would not budge.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. He made a second trip to the bathroom and retrieved a towel. Alex held the towel against the window as he kicked it in. The shards of glass fell to the ground in a tinkling rush. He hoped there was no-one below; but, really, why would there be?

With great difficulty, he dragged the mattress – thanking the _pousada _owners (or was it the managers who made bedding decisions?) that the mattress was extra thick – over to the wide window and dropped it to the ground. A moment's hesitation considering the precious contents – the laptop! – in his bags was all he needed before he dropped his manbag and Samsonite down the cliff as well. With a deep breath, Alex followed them out the window, stifling the yelp that threatened as his stomach fell out from under him.

In preparation of landing, Alex extended his knees, and moved smoothly into a roll. Pausing to gather his wits, he stood up, dusted himself off and gathered his bags. An inexplicable sense of loss suddenly overcame Alex and he turned to face the cliff-face to say goodbye to his room in the _pousada_. The tramcar was disabled, in case the fire caused havoc with the controls, so Alex walked towards the top of the stairs he had arrived on.

Before he could reach the stairs, he was interrupted by a voice.

"E aí, gatão, como estás?" simpered the reception lady with fluttering fake eyelashes. She looked somewhat naked somehow without the large desk hiding her.

Alex smiled vaguely. "Eeh aiee, gah tow, kaw moh iss tahzz," he mumbled, hoping that was a decent reply.

The lady frowned a little, but continued, unfazed. "Would handsome enjoy company of my house for the night?"

Shaking his head, Alex tried to inch past her to the stairs.

But still the woman persisted. "Poor boy, should not be alone. I can take care."

"I'm sure you can," Alex nodded, trying not to sound sarcastic. "Now, I just need to get—"

"I can get anything!" cried the woman passionately. "Anything for you, I can get an—"

"Hmm," Alex cut her off and leapt towards the stairs. Before the lady could protest her undying love, she was shouldered aside by a fireman with a bored expression. A spark of interest had lit his eyes in anticipation of conversation with Alex. Honestly, it was five thirty in the morning! Couldn't they leave him in peace?

"Are you harassed?" the fireman droned. He nodded, satisfied, when Alex shook his head violently. It seemed that tonight was a night of much head movement. The fireman gestured towards the house and mumbled a segue. "Did you call us here?"

Alex shook his head again and moved closer to the stairs. The fireman blocked his path and blinked at him as if surprised he wanted to escape. "Because," he enunciated pointedly with a glare at Alex's pale skin, "caller was Englishman." He nodded as if this was some grand secret he had been harbouring for the right time to release it into the air.

"Hmm," Alex replied noncommittally, and attempted to shove past.

The fireman stepped in front of him again. "And," he whispered in Alex's ear, "he was _happy_. He was _proud._" Once more he nodded upon imparting this information. Yes, tonight was a night of nodding and shaking heads.

"Oh my," Alex muttered and tried to slip under the fireman's elbow.

He got an elbow to the face for his troubles. Apparently, the fireman hadn't finished. "Also," the fireman pronounced, "he was _strange_."

Nonplussed, Alex decided that this conversation would be over faster if he could entice the fireman into giving up his information as quickly as possible. The sooner he could leave, the sooner he could end this whole business with fishhead and the sooner he'd get back to his football season. His mates would have been training for their third game by now. "How so?" Alex enquired, twisting his face into an expression of polite interest.

"Well," said the fireman, clearly pleased that he had snared a listener, "all the time he was calling himself by the strange name."

"Yes?" Alex prompted.

"Yes," agreed the fireman, nodding. "He was calling him 'icy'."

Alex froze. "icy?"

"Yes," repeated the fireman, enjoying Alex's reaction. "_I _think _he_ is lighting the fire."

"Not…" Alex trailed off. "Not fishhead?"

This so confused the fireman he didn't notice Alex slink away, shaking his head in upset confusion. Well, at least fishhead had kept her promise.

xxx

At the airport, Alex checked the laptop's recordings of the transmissions. Unfortunately, he hadn't figured out how to access the page through careful selection and pressing of keys, and had to resort to reconstructing his fit on the keyboard. It was a good thing he was sitting in the corner, although he spotted at least one person quickly sidling away after seeing the slightly furtive-looking boy vigorously attack the laptop.

The screen showed the transmission as '. (icy). Location: Singapore.' For some reason, it couldn't be any more accurate than that. Well, at least Singapore was sort of smallish.

Alex decided that there was probably more information to be gleaned from the internet – or at least, he couldn't bear wasting the free wi-fi service in the airport. An IP address look-up told him that the transmission was through iiNet, and that the browser used was, ironically for icy's pseudonym, Firefox. He – or she; Alex had learnt his lesson after meeting fishhead – also had Windows 7.

With renewed determination, Alex stood up and made his way to an ATM. After suffering the _Pousada Favelinha_, he was eager for the luxury that could be bought with access to the funds in his bank account. Or rather, MI6's bank account for agents. Alex rubbed his hands together.

Although previously he'd shied away from accessing the account, preferring to use hard cash and fearing that whoever was after him would somehow trace his whereabouts, Alex figured that he was leaving for Singapore in a few hours, and what could possibly happen in that time? fishhead, at least, was out of the equation. And icy surely would think him dead.

Singapore Airlines, economy class, was his choice. He wasn't so eager for luxury to buy his way into business or even first class – that would attract more attention than he was able to suffer. It would take almost a day to get to Singapore, but the airline provided movies and meals and that was all Alex really needed. He would definitely appreciate not fearing for his life for a day. Taking off and landing were the tricky bits.

After booking his flight, Alex walked to a payphone to book a hotel for his arrival in Singapore. He didn't know much about the hotels there, but a quick flip through a tourist guide gave him the name and number of a hotel that looked pretty decent. It was better than the _pousada_, at any rate. It was called the Amara.

"Hello, this is the Amara Hotel, how can I help you?" a young female voice chirped in a strange accent, a mixture of conglomerate Asian and Caucasian – English or American? he wasn't sure – that made it seem as if the voice on the other end of the line was carefully enunciating each syllable in order to be understood.

Alex cleared his throat. He needed to be convincing, and so spoke in Received, with a faint hint of a French accent. "Ah, yes, hello. I was wondering if I could book a room?"

"Yes, Sir," agreed the voice, and added, "would that be a single room? Executive? With internet?"

"Yes, thank you, with internet," Alex confirmed.

There was a pause. "And what time period were you hoping for, Sir?"

"Er," Alex stalled. How long would it take to meet and sort out icy? He played for time. "From tonight, if that's possible."

"Yes, Sir, we have several rooms available," the voice assured him, a little exasperatedly. "When would you be ending your stay with us, Sir?"

Once more, Alex cleared his throat, playing for time. "Perhaps for a week – would I be able to extend my stay at the end of that?"

"Yes, Sir," the voice replied after a pause. "However, you may be asked to change rooms, although that eventuality will be avoided if at all possible, of course."

"Excellent," Alex smiled. "Shall I bring payment on arrival?"

"Yes, Sir," the voice repeated, "you should also bring your passport. It will be just over one thousand and five hundred Singapore dollars, tax inclusive. In Brazilian Real, that is just over two thousand and five hundred. Would you like that in pounds or Francs, Sir?"

Alex was startled by her knowledge of his location, not to mention her picking up on what he'd thought was a very subtle accent. What possible use could a hotel have for knowing where its callers were? Pushing his surprise to the back of his mind, he declined and ended the call.

Next, Alex checked in his Samsonite, and headed towards passport control. The officer at the head of the queue for passport control that Alex was in was young and looked a little like some sort of rodent, with limp black hair pulled back into a greasy ponytail, and a small, half-hearted goatee. As Alex stepped towards the man, he was assaulted with the smell of stale smoke and fish, and had to force himself to show no reaction.

The man, as though he held a longstanding grudge towards everyone, scrutinised Alex's face carefully, comparing it to the passport that proclaimed Alex to be 'Louis Le Châtelier', a name Alex had chosen on the spur of the moment when buying the counterfeit documents.

"What you think, Miguel, is he looking like who he say he is?" Alex's officer coughed a wet chuckle at the officer at the desk beside him. The other man grunted, but continued with his own traveller. The ferret officer scowled, but nodded to Alex. Reluctantly. "Go through."

According to Alex's boarding pass, he was to board the plane at seven o'clock that morning, but the plane wouldn't actually start moving until an hour later. His wristwatch told him that he still had half an hour before he had to consider moving to the gate. And what else to do at six o'clock in the morning but eat breakfast?

After checking in his bags, he followed a map to the food section. The bright lights and tantalising pictures welcomed hungry travellers. Given such a large choice, it was hard for Alex to choose which particular venue should be graced by his presence. He looked down at his boarding pass: 'Terminal 1'. Well, he could narrow his choices down by choosing those places near his terminal. Crossing the wide expanse, he entered Passenger Terminal 1.

Here, there was still a number of places Alex could eat, though these were separated by category of eatery, and so it was easier. He surveyed his choices with a keen eye. A café, 'Black Coffee', held a number of young to middle-aged women; couples with screaming children queued at the counter of Brunella Ice; young men about his age with American flags and footballs populated SP Burger; suave businessmen and women dined at the Viena Restaurant. Alex would have gone to the burger place, but seeing the footballs made him feel bitter and pouty and so he turned away from the sight. The black and white sign of 'Crepe de Paris' greeted him, promising comfort and quiet solitude. He approached it and scanned the menu.

Much as he would have liked to try the various breakfast and dessert crepes, Alex required something to sustain him for a while; he'd been eating mostly snacks in Brazil, and who knew how nutritious the food on the plane would be? For only eighteen Brazilian Real, Alex was served the Paris Special: a crepe of magnificent proportions, overflowing with chicken, mushrooms, olives and mozzarella, and oozing with 'special' gravy. Alex's tastebuds watered.

At least thirty minutes later, though, the food had been consumed and it was time to enter Terminal 1.

As he approached the x-ray scanner, his heart began to thump a staccato rhythm that only grew stronger as he walked closer. It had always done this, even before Ian's death. There was just something in the silent watchfulness of the guards, and the ever-present worry that the machines would find something and give off an alarm. What did he have? Money, toiletries, expanding gum, papers and a mobile. Would the mobile set off the alarm? Would the gum? He doubted it, Smithers was too good for that. Alex put the mobile in the tray for the scanning machine and walked through, looking as innocent he could.

Stepping through the scanning gateway, Alex's heart gave a little skip and he paused. The alarm. It was ringing. He looked at the light. Yes, it was for him. The guard was motioning to him, saying something. Brain racing furiously, Alex re-checked everything on his person. Ah, yes! Relief. It was his wristwatch. Alex smiled sheepishly and returned under the gateway, put his watch in a tray and stepped back through.

This time the alarm did not beep.

Gathering his belongings, he made his way to one of the two free seats beside the terminal gate. One other seat was sandwiched between two large families, both of which had more than their fair share of howling babies. Anything was better than that, surely. He headed towards the other seat: it was on the end of a row.

The man beside Alex reminded him of a grown up version of the disguise SCORPIA had equipped Alex with when he entered England to kill Mrs Jones: overweight, with black curly hair, thick glasses, terrible skin, and a slight moustache on his upper lip. The man had purchased a pizza and a coke from somewhere in the airport, and was ploughing his way through each, while reading the news on his iPad. Alex cringed mentally as he watched the man swiping his greasy fingers across the keys, and licking his plump lips.

Eventually, business class was called to board, and the man left.

Bored, Alex turned the boarding pass over. He frowned. There was writing…

_NOTICE TO CUSTOMERS TRAVELLING TO OR FROM THE UNITED STATES / FROM BRAZIL_

_If you are travelling on a flight to or from the United States / from Brazil, please provide the name and telephone number of a person not travelling with you. The information will be used only in the event of an emergency and may be released to relevant U.S. / Brazilian government agencies. Thank you._

Underneath this notice, were spaces for the person's name, relationship to him, city or state, country, postal code, telephone number and fax number.

Alex shrugged and wrote in Smithers' details, or what he knew of them, which wasn't much. What was Smithers' first name, anyway? Derek. He couldn't put MI6's phone number, because the emergency services would probably be a little sceptical with the Royal and General Bank answering so he left that blank. The relationship section was also left blank. That he left up to Smithers.

Just as Alex completed the form, the PA called for all economy class passengers to board. Groaning as he stood, he collected his manbag and headed towards the plane.

* * *

**AN: Got any ideas for the person going after Alex? Clue: It's someone you all know.**


	10. Chappie 8 - Singapore

**Chappie Eight**

The recycled air in the plane was cold and stuffy as always. The seats were hard and there wasn't enough room for his legs. How they thought people could sleep was beyond him, but maybe Alex was just being picky, and, really, he had certainly slept in places much worse than this.

Beside him, a man only a few years older than him chatted to his friends sitting across the aisle. It appeared he'd drawn the short straw in terms of seating, because as he sat beside Alex, his mates teased him, saying what a lovely seat-mate he had, with flowing, golden hair and soft, pale skin.

Well, at least the man was unlikely to be as annoying as 'Soph', Alex's last seat-mate. After stowing his backpack under the seat in front of him, the man had taken some earphones from his pocket and plugged them into the hand-rest.

As Alex waited for take-off, the air-hostesses came round.

"That's the headphones with complimentary earplugs; complimentary blanket and pillow; complimentary juice pack; and complimentary peanuts. I must warn you some products may contain nuts."

A slender man in a brown pinstriped suit near Alex commented knowingly, "That'll be the peanuts."

The hostess did not seem to have much of a sense of humour and only gave a thin smile. "Enjoy your trip."

"Oh, I can't wait!" cried the man in false ecstasy. "Allons-y!"

Alex looked down at the juice, flavoured peach and clementine, and was struck with a dilemma. Drink it now, or later? If he drank it now it would quench the thirst from breakfast, but then he'd feel the plaque building up, and he'd have to stand up, go to the bathroom and brush his teeth… So much hassle for such small relief.

But against his instincts, he decided to succumb to peer pressure – and avoid any annoying questions – by following his seatmate's lead: the man showed no hesitation, ripping off the cover and throwing back the juice. He finished it in three gulps.

Alex plugged the earphones into the headset on his armrest, and turned the screen on. Instantly, his ears were assaulted with a cacophony of a woman singing 70s music and urging listeners to 'Do it, do it again'. He switched to cartoons, but all that was showing was Betty Boop. Sighing with regret, Alex chose to do something rather more useful than just watching movies: he clicked 'Learn Another Language' and waited for the screen to load.

xxx

After at least ten minutes his screen still hadn't loaded and when the plane took off a few minutes later, it flickered dangerously. Soon they were above the cloud line and the seatbelt lights dimmed. Alex gave up on his screen ever loading and let it be after fruitlessly slamming the menu button. He kept his headset on to block out all external noise (such as his enthusiastic seat-mate).

Once again, the air-hostesses came around, this time with trolleys of food. Alex's seat-mate chose sausages and mash; Alex chose the lamb and mashed pea pie. Along with the pie, he was given lychee juice, fruit salad, and a scone with butter, cream and strawberry jam; all in a nice little tray. Though he had already eaten, Alex decided to treat himself and eat it all.

Without warning, the headset resting on Alex's head burst to life and the panicked tones of a young British girl assaulted his ears: "_My name's Cassie and I'm lost – lost after pirates attacked my father's sp–"_

The voice cut off with the sound of digital vomit and Alex's screen froze on a sickly, barcode-like pattern of yellow and cerulean. Alex looked around at the other passengers, but no one seemed to have heard what he had and no one else's screen had had a strange fit.

He shrugged, turned off the screen, and tucked into his food. Maybe the screen shouldn't have been turned on before lift-off, like they said…

xxx

The man in the brown suit near Alex had lost his enthusiasm and good humour, and instead was reading a letter on posh stationery. Alex could hear his mutters as he read the message.

"The path has never seemed more… reason tells me that you… I shall not listen… inside your head…my love… lonely…"

Bored, Alex filled in the missing words with flowery phrases and overcomplicated verse.

"_The path has never seemed more obvious. You need me more than I need you, and as it is giving that brings more joy than receiving, I shall enter a relationship with you. Reason tells me that the younger you are, the more likely you are to learn; we must be married upon your return."_ (It rhymed!)

"_I shall not listen if you decide to spurn my tender affection because I know that the part of you that rejects me is the aberration inside your head that I shall strive to heal. My love, do not hesitate; instead embrace this stroke of fortune afforded us by fate. You must acknowledge that you are lonely and will only be complete once I join with you."_

The man's look of utter sadness and resignation made absolute sense. Alex smiled in satisfaction and congratulated himself on a job well done. His English teacher would be proud. His football coach would have scowled.

As if applauding his translation, the food trolley came once more with 'refreshments': something called rendang, and a trio of biscuits. Alex drooled.

xxx

Alex's seat-mate was shifting in his seat, leaning from side to side with an intense look on his face. His focussed mastication of his peanuts made Alex shudder. Surreptitiously, Alex bent towards his neighbour and peered at the screen darkened by whatever it was that caused it to be able to be seen only from the front. On the screen, a rainbow ball spun on a platform suspended in the virtual air of a world with ultra-saturated colours and a cyan sky.

The ball fell through a hole, landing on a spring which sent it flying up, through the hole, through another hole and then the ball rolled forwards, onto a giant button where it froze as fireworks exploded from underneath.

Sighing in relief, Alex's seat-mate dropped the controller and slumped backwards, still chewing the peanuts ponderously. His friends from across the aisle swore – or at least that was what it sounded like – and hailed him as the marble king. Alex decided to mind his own business or have his head explode from perplexion.

xxx

The couple in front of Alex had been at it for a while. Originally, due to the boy's appearance as, well, a boy and so still under the age of consent; and the woman's grey hair and subtle wrinkles lending her an image of maturity past middle age, Alex had assumed that they were mother and son.

Apparently not. After a complex boarding ritual, involving the woman checking the boy's face for dirt, then spitting daintily on a handkerchief and rubbing vigorously at his face, they seated themselves and began another long process, this time with the stowing of bags, fastening of seatbelts and unwrapping of blanket and pillow.

Strangely enough, the male had refused any and all meals. The woman, in contrast, consumed all with fascinatingly voracious gusto. At one point, it seemed the boy was as disgusted as Alex, and rose to go to the bathroom with a pale face. As he passed Alex, he glanced over with weirdly dark eyes ringed by purplish bruises.

Now he had returned, and greeted his… partner? with a long and passionate kiss that continued with neither partner gasping for air as the boy (?) seated himself.

Fortunately, the food trolley arrived, bringing a meal eagerly accepted by the woman. Alex's stomach, undeterred by the displays forced upon him earlier, growled at the smells wafting over.

He checked the menu: char siu with cucumber slices as an appetiser; oriental broth with lotus seeds, water chestnuts, straw mushrooms, baby corn and bamboo shoots; roast duck on ramen noodles with a sweet sauce; and a blueberry and custard Danish to round the whole meal off.

The woman wiped her mouth on the tip of the towel that was draped around the boy's neck, and excused herself with a "Why don't you email that trio of yours? I'm sure they'd like to hear from us. Make sure to ask about Eve."

xxx

Another strange couple had caught Alex's attention. He didn't know what it was about them, but something screamed _juvenile criminal_. Maybe it was the tattoo on the man's neck, or his scruffy and general _don't mess with me _look.

Or maybe it was the… overly endowed girl (to put it lightly), with a scowl on her face and scruffy yet somehow fitting attire that characterised her immediately with her bling and heavy make-up. Whatever it was, it came as a surprise when the girl started explaining to her boyfriend, 'Seth', about the plane's engine in relation to a rocket's during a bout of turbulence.

Her boyfriend smiled with a slightly bored expression and broke in to crack what seemed like some sort of inside joke about the plane being in a storm. Smirks spread across their faces and they glanced around the plane nonchalantly. Alex shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

xxx

Alex was feeling guilty about all the food he was consuming. Call him paranoid, but he felt as if he was sinking further into the chair under his weight with every bite.

His football coach would be disappointed. The man often lectured the team on not just eating a healthy and balanced diet, but also exercising to keep up cardiovascular and muscular fitness. Apparently, he'd trained as a nutritionist before moving onto football, and even at parties would stick to salads – without dressing, of course – and tiny portions of steak, followed by a fruit brought from home and a large glass of water. His favourite fruit was the orange, but he had sometimes been heard to extol the virtues of exotic fruits. He favoured pomegranates and pomelos for their 'anti-oxidant properties' and vitamin C.

Perhaps when he got to Singapore, Alex could buy some fruit for his coach and send it – somehow – as a bribe and compensation for missing so many games.

Maybe not. It was probably illegal.

Thinking all of this took a lot of effort for Alex's brain, which was already numb from the tedium of the plane ride. How long had it been? Nine hours already, with about fourteen more to go. Only food could rid him of the pain. Any type of food.

Like angels sent from heaven, the air-hostesses descended – or rather, wheeled the food trolleys – to him, bearing a tray of goodies including a Tim Tam, some crackers and cheese, three mingy pieces of sushi, a melon ball fruit salad and watermelon juice.

Alex dismissed his phantom coach urging him to spurn temptation, and welcomed the tray with a hungry grin.

xxx

In the relative quiet of the plane, unmarred by teenage girls and their music, Alex found himself in a reflective mood. He wasn't one to be content with a passive role against his nemeses.

After all, they would only keep attacking him until he was dead, although even then who was to say they wouldn't attack his corpse and dance on his grave? And so he sat, The Thinker on a plane seat, contemplating his options regarding the destruction of his foes. All the while, his seat-mate beside him bobbed his head in time to the basketballs on the screen.

One of the ideas he rejected almost immediately was to get rid of the head of the organisation. There were a couple of problems with this path: one, icy, a complete stranger, was hidden in a country with a population of more than five million; and two, even if he somehow managed to find and destroy icy, who was to say icy was the head, anyway? Perhaps he was simply another pawn in some other person's game. Or perhaps it was an entire organisation against him, like SCORPIA. If so, he was not up against a snake, but a hydra. Perhaps rushing off to Singapore hadn't been the wisest course of action.

And so he considered the destruction of the entire operation against him. However, this multiplied the problems as icy and the other attackers were all unknown to him. Finding all of them and stopping them would undoubtedly be incredibly difficult. It was just too difficult exterminating the entire group.

What other options did he have?

The only one that leaped out at him was from his apathetic side, the small part of him that hated the adventure and mysteries of spy-work and wished for sleep, nibbles and a sofa placed directly to the front of a large television.

This part of his mind suggested that he simply go back to Britain and his house, get several packets of crisps and laze about watching TV. This part of Alex's mind suggested that even if the organisation killed him, he'd die happy, and besides, with that lifestyle he would die of a heart attack in forty years anyway.

Promptly squashing that part of his mind, he decided he could think more later. Maybe when he wasn't so numbed by this horrible long plane flight.

xxx

Dinner came in the form of some steamed vegetable in oyster sauce; salmon pan-fried in a blend of soy-sauce, ginger, sherry, sugar and sesame oil – or at least that's what some passenger claiming to be a chef loudly announced to his friend – mango juice; and an ice-cream in a cone with whipped cream, chocolate fudge sauce and chopped nuts. The cone was lined with chocolate.

The man beside Alex noticeably ate only the vegetables and half the main meal. One of his friends only ate the ice-cream and the juice.

Alex ate it all. It was delicious.

xxx

Brightness woke him up. The lights had turned on, just as they had turned off hours earlier (as if the flight-crew were passively-aggressively telling passengers to go to bed, dammit! and stop asking them for a glass of water!).

Alex hadn't meant to fall asleep; at first he had merely pretended, at eight o' clock, when his seat-mate had grown sick of watching movies and started an avid conversation with his friends. He had reasoned that the man might be considerate and speak quieter in order not to 'disturb' his younger seat-mate. It hadn't worked.

Even so, Alex had fallen asleep, and now it was morning and the sun was shining through the windows and the air-hostesses were coming round with steamed towels for passengers to wipe their faces. Or at least, that was what he assumed they were for. The tongs the hostesses used to take them back were inordinately successful in making Alex feel unclean.

xxx

The crowd from the plane made their way at various speeds to the bag retrieval area. Some, like the chef, the man in the brown suit and the couple with the seemingly large age gap, took the travelator – or magic carpet as Tom had taught Alex to call it. Others, like the criminal couple and Alex's seat-mate and friends decided to take the healthier option and walk.

Alex himself, in a compromise between impatience and guilt, rode the magic carpet and walked as well. As he whizzed past walkers, he felt the superiority and power that only speed can bring. The air blew his hair back, and for a moment, he felt as though he really was on a magic carpet ride. It was an indescribable feeling.

Unfortunately, the ride soon ended and Alex was forced to move at a human pace. He was whisked through Customs with such haste that he didn't have time to feel terrified and found himself walking through the exit with almost no recollection of having travelled through the airport. Perhaps he'd been too tired to take much note.

A sign nearby told him that, should he choose to ride in a taxi, a Benz or maxi-taxi or other more expensive types would have a surcharge. After noting this, he walked outside and was – just as hurriedly as his airport experience had seemingly been – directed towards the only free taxi. It was a Merc.

He wandered back to the person who had ushered him towards the car and asked him whether he would incur a surcharge if he rode in the Benz.

"No, no surcharge," the man reassured him. "When they come to airport, they are all normal taxis. No surcharge."

"Ah," responded Alex. He'd heard that Singaporeans were always looking to scam money off tourists. Was this the case here?

Smiling his thanks to the director person, he ambled to the Benz and asked the driver whether he would incur a surcharge.

"No," the driver smiled toothily. "See, we become the normal taxis in the airport."

Alex nodded. Well, it wasn't as if there were any other taxis around to take him, and he didn't want to start his trip in Singapore being rude, so he helped the driver load his luggage into the car then relaxed into the front seat and the peculiar feeling of professionalism, comfort and subtle dodginess that only a Mercedes Benz taxi could provide.

In a strange way, the smell of stale cigarette smoke pervading the interior of the car and the soft sound of the radio set to a popular station made him feel quite somnolent. Maybe all taxi drivers were taught to give their passengers the same treatment the world over, with slight differences according to location and price. As it was, the leather seats, wood panelling and vaguely cheerful but indifferent driver made him feel as if he were being driven to the Bank.

Singapore was a city in two minds. On the one hand, towering buildings were clustered in blocks, cold metal structures that were constantly being knocked down to be replaced by taller, stronger and even deader buildings.

But even as the buildings rose, so did trees of great sizes. Serpent-like, green ropy branches snaked around each other in twisting patterns, mimicking ropey roots that dived into the ground and attacked cracks in the footpath. It was a sharp contrast to Chelsea, a place of old stately homes and prim gardens. Here was a distant future where humans inhabited shelters and plants reclaimed the world. The only sign of human existence outside of the buildings were cranes, scattered like strangely graceful birdlike creatures. Yet despite their indication of human life, they did not exude any humanity, or life. Just more metal structures in a metal city standing amongst the trees.

As they drove down the winding streets barely lit by the rising Monday-morning sun, Alex caught sight of the Singapore Flyer, the South-East Asian version of the London Eye. Lights twinkling in the pre-dawn darkness, it did not seem to quite fit in with the clinical seriousness of the city, though it did brighten the mood just a little.

Next to the big wheel existed structures like giant flat-topped trees devoid of leaves. The trunks glowed yellow and pink while the branches radiated purple. From within the centre of the faux trees' growth, a white spherical light gently brought a sense of life to the great, oddly beautiful constructions. Behind the trees loomed a dome like the spine of some ancient mythical water-creature emerging from the bay.

The taxi passed the business district, a surprisingly quiet place for a Monday, although street cleaners were already up and about, cleaning the ghost city. It finally pulled up at the hotel Alex had booked.

Alex pushed the glass doors open in a double-door entrance and was assaulted immediately with a wall of cold, saturated with air-freshener. His eyes, still used to the darkness of outside, automatically squinted to adjust to the overwhelming goldenness of the lighting and furnishings.

In contrast, the walls were white, though the wooden pillars and mezzanine were also of a yellow-hued wood. Or perhaps they were painted. Behind the front desk hung white sheer drapes, lit from above with yellow incandescent lights. To the right was a luggage-trolley, guarded by a porter, and around the room were several swirly sculptures of silver and blue, accentuating the colour scheme.

A receptionist with bright white teeth to match the sheer brilliance of the place greeted him. Alex plastered a look of polite interest on his tired face.

"Hello, I've got a booking here, under the name of Le Châtelier?"

The man typed rapidly on his keyboard. "Ah, yes, Sir. Room 713. Here is your key."

Alex took the card, and asked if he would be able to check in straight away.

Apparently the normal check in time was not until three o'clock in the afternoon – nine hours he would have had to wait – but since the room had been unoccupied previously, they were able to make an exception. Perhaps it was the dark circles ringing Alex's eyes that persuaded them.

Dragging his leaden feet, he took the lift to his room, noting with amusement the excited tone the lift put on as it announced, "Doors _opening_!" He could almost imagine little wavy lines and hearts emitting from the speakers.

Room 713 was of average size, with a single bed in the middle. Like all hotel rooms, it was carpeted – though not with as nice a carpet as he had left behind in Chelsea – and featured a wide-screen TV, a wooden bench, some chairs, a wardrobe, a bathroom and a safe. Nothing really of note.

After dumping his luggage onto the bed, he checked out the safe. While these were not infallible, at least he could store some valuables in it, which he did, as well as in several hiding places scattered about the room.

An envelope sitting innocuously on the bedside table caught his attention as he flipped through the other items left there – a menu, some sort of operating instructions for the television, some other stuff that wasn't interesting…

But this envelope was unmarked. He couldn't think of any hotel purpose it might have, which left him thinking that it had come from the outside. Obviously someone had paid the hotel staff to leave it there for him to find.

Who had sent it? An enemy or a friend? He'd heard stories of anthrax being sent in the mail, and he couldn't afford the risk. Not when he was so tired, and not when he didn't want to draw attention to himself. But what if it was important? What if MI6 was contacting him with some very important information and this was the only way to reach him?

He picked up the envelope, frowning.

* * *

**AN: **

**To thegirlwhosawerewolf: Thanks for reviewing so much! It's nice to know that people care enough to bother :) Late is better than never.**

**To Niamh x: Thank you for your review! It really made my day :) To answer your questions, it is not Yassen who is after Alex (he is, sadly, still dead); Eagle was **_**not **_**the man from number 4, but you're close… **


	11. Chappie 9 - That Singking Feeling

**That Singking Feeling**

Alex considered what traps the envelope could possibly contain.

The obvious one was some sort of poison. He couldn't touch the inside – the outside was clean, hopefully, to avoid raising suspicion if the staff member delivering it was found poisoned –or risk breathing it in. He couldn't open it somewhere where other people might be, either.

Assuming it was anthrax or a similar chemical, if he held his breath while keeping his nose and mouth covered with a wet cloth, he might be able to avoid inhalation. If he wore a balaclava, ski gloves and a long-sleeved shirt tucked in, with thermal underwear and thick socks, skin contact may be avoided. Then, he could read the note and determine whether it was safe. If it was, he'd be fine. If not, he'd read it, burn it, wash the ashes with microbial soap from his manbag and throw the remnants in two shower caps, twisted tightly to prevent leakage.

Hopefully that would be enough. He imagined the torment that obsessive-compulsive people suffered just washing their hands, and gave thanks that he didn't suffer from that particular mental difficulty.

So Alex – after first turning the air-conditioning to 5 degrees Celsius – dressed with many layers to prevent contact, and took the letter to the shower where he could hopefully contain any spores that may escape. He had his first-aid kit from his manbag on hand, just in case.

He opened the envelope: nothing happened.

Well, nothing that he noticed. He withdrew the letter. It read:

_Alex, my boy! I heard you went looking for me in Brazil. Sorry I couldn't stay, but work called me away. Anyway, some mutual friends of ours asked me to pass a message on, okay?_

"_HAPPY BIRTHDAY"_

_Why don't you light a candle to celebrate despite your lack of cake? I've heard Singapore sells some very nice desserts that you can buy in any hawkers market. I would recommend ice kacang, to assist with temperature control. ;)_

_Smithers_

Well it certainly sounded like the gadget-master he knew (except for the smiley, though that wasn't unexpected, per se). Later, he may have reprimanded himself for taking such a risk, but Alex, in his sleep-deprived state, decided to trust the letter and exited the shower, stripping off the extra layers. He turned up the air-conditioning again with one thing niggling in his mind: it wasn't his birthday yet, nor would it be until February 13 next year. Smithers would have known that. So why had he wished him happy birthday? There was something he was missing, but for now, all he was missing was sleep.

xxx

Later that day, Alex awoke to the cramping pains that accompanied an empty stomach. And no wonder; when he checked the alarm clock beside the bed, four digital glowing-green reading _13:00. _Really? How on earth had he managed to sleep for seven hours in daylight? Was it the darkness brought by the closed curtains, the stress of the past days, or just the general late-ish nature of Singapore as a nation? Even now, as he looked out the window, people seemed only just beginning to rouse and once more join the hustle and bustle on the streets. Perhaps it was just the area he was in.

Alex himself was still feeling rather sleepy, and decided to take the rest of this day relaxing and recovering and thinking. As his teachers used to say: if you're feeling tired, you might as well go to sleep and do your work later, when you're properly rested and can make the most learning from whatever work you have to do.

Well, maybe not so ineloquently, but that was the general idea.

And thus, by ten-past, he stood at the doors opening to the pool on the sixth floor. As he passed through the doors, Alex noted the counter on the left, holding towels, and a basket on the right with used towels. A sign read belligerently: please deposit all soiled towels in the basket. He sniggered briefly in his mind at the word 'soiled'.

From the cover beside the counter, Alex walked out, briefly wincing at the blazing midday sun burning his skin and blinding him. Perhaps now wasn't such a good time to swim.

But Alex would never be one to back down if he could help it, and so he squeezed the suncream he had so wisely decided to bring, and rubbed it in. Hopefully Smithers' general creations worked just as well as his gadgets, and better than other suncreams. Hopefully it wouldn't work like the bug repellent back on Skeleton Key, and leave him as burnt as a deep-fried mars bar.

Once protected, he followed the walkway over a moat surrounding a small concrete platform. The moat, in its inky depths, contained schools of koi; white, black, gold and a combination of all three. Maybe it was just his hunger, but in that moment the koi looked good enough to eat, never mind their being carp and therefore having lots of tiny, annoying bones. Unfortunately, he had no way of catching them, save for with his bare hands, and he walked on.

The pool was only about two metres deep, but Alex dived in anyway, after depositing his stuff on one of the beach chairs. Beneath the shade of high-rise buildings surrounding the hotel, he swam a couple of laps, enjoying the sensation of cool water rushing past his skin. His injuries twinged a bit, but that was to be expected. He had been lazy for too long, and it'd be good if he could return to football back home with no noticeable loss of fitness. His coach would be more accommodating, hopefully.

After about a quarter of an hour, Alex grew tired of swimming laps, and lolled on his back in the middle of the pool. His eyes were just about to drift shut when voices caught his attention: a gaggle of girls and overly-large bug sunglasses were traipsing towards him, giggling under their giant floppy hats. So much for the peacefulness of the pool; one of the girls was carrying a rainbow-striped beach ball under her arm.

Before they could reach him, he clambered out of the water, and grabbed his towel and kit. With a carefully carefree expression, Alex took a circuitous route around the other side of the pool to the girls, and headed back inside, through the glass doors and to the lifts.

He checked his watch: 13:30. Time for lunch.

xxx

Next to the hotel was a small adjoining shopping centre called '100AM', empty save for a few business women grabbing a quick snack before rushing off on the first day of the working week. Here, on the ground floor Alex found a small urban café called Hic'cup, selling crepes both sweet and savoury, and Asian drinks. For only $10.90, he was able to order a wintermelon drink, a savoury crepe and fruit salad. What a bargain.

As he sat down to wait at one of the metal tables, a young boy with an older girl came in. The child was chatting eagerly about a book he had read, while the girl went behind the counter and tied on an apron. In the background, Sia sang about bullets ricocheting, a song Alex hoped was a good omen.

His order arrived, the crepe with mushrooms, egg, asparagus, honey mustard and cheese, and the drink with something called 'kanten strips'. The crepe was on a small, rectangular wooden plate with a divot cut out in the middle. On the side was a set of metal cutlery, small enough to be from toy set. Cute, but he'd expected that from a small, cute Asian place called Hic'cup.

The food was good, and Alex finished quickly. As he leant back in his seat, the man who had taken his order approached with a cake on a plate.

"Excuse me, but we have a new recipe. Would you be willing to try it and give us feedback?"

Alex hesitated. He'd been lax the past few days, eating whatever caught his fancy and hardly exercising, but the free cake was too enticing. He was drooling already.

"Of course!"

As he ate, the child kept prattling on at the table closest to the counter. Apparently the book featured a trio of some sort of junior investigators, one of them being named after a planet or something. They used a secret messaging system whereby they'd write an innocuous message in ink, but use lemon juice for the true message on the back. It was called invisible ink and it was old news, Alex wanted to tell the kid.

Alex sipped at his drink, which strangely came in a jar with a metal screw-top lid. He'd finished his meal, so now it was back to work and figuring out the message back in his room.

Wait a minute.

Invisible ink! The letter had told him to light a candle. Of course, that was it. Smithers was hardly going to send him something without hiding or disguising it some way.

Alex approached the counter, gave some vague words complimenting the cake, and mentioned that it was perhaps a bit dry and crumbly, though of course its taste and lack of cost far outweighed any problems with it. And with that, he made his exit.

xxx

The pyromaniac held the paper over the flickering flame, light passing through the letter and lighting his face eerily. Slowly, letters began to brown on the paper, and the pyromaniac's face lit up in a triumphant grin. He blew out the match, and the spell was broken.

Even at first glance, it was clear the message made no sense forwards, backwards, sideways or in the mirror. It was complete nonsense. There weren't even hidden words – there were too few vowels.

_HRLFFW XHMDCG_

_UDMZEDY_

_VFW X' JMRCM BV_

Right. Now what? He had to do something; couldn't sit in his hotel room all day when he was trying to get back and join his football team before the season ended.

Alex decided to take a walk. Perhaps the fresh air would help him think.

xxx

Orchard road bustled with shoppers who hurried, heads bowed, from building to building trying to keep cover from the rain that had appeared out of nowhere, drenching the unwary. Meanwhile, the streets were packed with Jaguars, Porsches, Maseratis and Ferraris polished to a shining point.

Alex, ambling around the city in a daze, had walked further than he thought, and had somehow managed to find himself in the shopping district just as the rain started.

Pushing past shrieking, giggling girls holding newspapers over their heads, he entered a random building lit by a bright sign proclaiming it to be 'Takashimaya'. Inside, the light was more golden than even in the hotel, colouring the normally white floor buttercup, and giving a sense of old and distinguished elegance. At the foot of the escalators was a small statue urging for funds for the endangered pangolin.

Upstairs, Alex wondered into a bookstore, ignoring designer shops with icy attendants. Maybe he could relax in silence there, let his mind turn the problem over in his subconscious.

The walls were liberally lined with books, and several bookcases too. It was the largest bookstore he'd ever seen. It was fairly empty though, for such a large store; however, that was to be expected, it being Monday. There were some tourists, of varying nationalities.

Near the finance section was a man with flattened black hair parted on the side, loose lips and a milky eye muttering in English something about bonds and casinos; a silvery-haired woman with awe-inspiring looks was pointing out the Chinese superstition and curse books to her red-headed husband who looked like he'd been ravaged by a dog.

Alex himself wandered over to the maths section, the only quiet place where he could think properly. Even so, the general murmur of the shop wasn't conducive to solving problems. Alex found his eyes drifting over the titles of the books. There was something about a Number Devil, something else about an imaginary square and a slightly more interesting-looking one called _Victor and Vicky, the Vector Virgins_. He closed his eyes and picked one at random.

_Fun With Numbers: A Mathematical Adventure._

Well that was an oxymoron, 'Mathematical Adventure'. Alex suppressed a laugh. Sure, maths problems could be challenging and finding the solution could be immensely satisfying, but nothing in a book could ever capture the heart-stopping fear and adrenalin of true danger. After MI6, Alex had been unable to appreciate books as he'd used to be able to. He constantly criticised James Bond in his mind for performing irrelevant and dangerous stunts, he cursed Lady Macbeth for giving herself away, and he condemned Robert Langdon for trusting Teabing.

Still, the blond ex-spy opened the book to the index and scanned the chapter titles, eventually choosing _Cryptology for the Curious_.

Most of it was generic, obvious stuff like adding one letter or hiding the message in every prime-numbered word. Other things, like the 'Hill Cipher' were unknown to Alex's non-mathematical brain. What did multiplying matrices to modulo 27 even mean?

Alex was just about to close the book when something caught his eye, some mention of dates. Smithers had gotten the wrong date for his birthday. Could it be related?

He read the passage with growing excitement.

By the end, Alex was sure that the message had been written with a date shift cipher, a cipher that used the digits of a certain date to shift letters.

But was his birthday meant to be written as 13/02/1987 or 2/13/1987 or 87/2/13? There were so many variations; surely the gadget-maestro wouldn't be so cruel as to force him to try all of them.

Surreptitiously, he withdrew the letter, hoping a clue could be found somewhere.

In his peripheral vision, Alex saw a small, rotund man with a neat black moustache waddle in to the crime section, examining the books with a small moue and tut of disdain. Alex turned away from the newcomer and examined the letter.

There! In the corner of the letter, where the date was meant to be written, Smithers had written in _dd/mm/yyyy. _Perfect!

Alex shifted the letters according to the instructions of the date shift cipher, and was left – finally! – with a message that almost made sense:

_GOLDEN PALACE_

_TUESDAY_

_TEN O' CLOCK AM_

Alex had to get a move on finding where and what the Golden Palace was, because Tuesday was tomorrow. Well, that was good timing by Smithers. He wondered if the maths book had been somehow planted by Smithers or MI6. He wouldn't be surprised.

xxx

By the time Alex made his way back to Tanjong Pagar, where the hotel was – and thank goodness for the train system, the MRT; he'd done enough walking for the day – it was half-six and he was hungry once more. The Maxwell Road Hawker Centre provided a close option for dinner.

The markets in Singapore were a lot different to any food court or eating area Alex had ever been. In Europe, food courts were open, with separate buildings or sections for each different shop. Here, stalls clustered together with near-identical signs.

Alex spotted a stall called 'wanton noodle', and another called 'wanton pot', both with the same menu and same pictures. But the main thing was the atmosphere, almost cramped but full of a simple enjoyment of good, inexpensive food.

Aging men sat hunched over large bowls of some sort of white porridge with lumps of chicken, groups of friends laughed over sugarcane drinks and plates of noodles, tourists sat in cargo trousers and singlets, dubiously tasting pastries and colourful desserts.

Alex found himself an empty table, after ordering from a stall with a reasonably long queue. In front of him was barley water, some green vegetables in oyster sauce and a dish with what looked like noodles, but was called 'carrot cake'. It didn't look like it had carrot or was even a cake at all, but he took a tentative bite anyway, and almost died. It was probably one of the best tasting dishes he'd ever eaten. Clearly he'd have no troubles adjusting his tastebuds for Singapore.

Sure enough, he polished off the food in record time, hungry enough to contemplate a dessert. Ice kacang, with its rainbow syrup, was too much of a temptation to go without, and Alex ordered the frozen treat with gleeful anticipation. Given the man's size, Alex should be able to trust Smithers' recommendations regarding food. No-one, not even the thought of icy, could rob him of his gastro-euphoria that night.

He finished about five minutes later, leaning back from the table with a satisfied sigh. He smiled genially at a passing group of tourists, who only gave him half-smiles in return. But he wasn't deterred, and when a table-neighbour happened to look his way, he grinned at them too before almost skipping out of the place. The night was young, the lights were bright and the loud noises were but mild distractions in a world of wonder.

Despite his effusive joy, returning to the hotel brought a sense of relief from escaping the noise and lights of Singapore's city. The muted instrumental music and even the enthusiastic 'Doors_ opening_!'from the lift were familiar friends to Alex, who stumbled into his room and sat down at the desk, taking the laptop from the drawer and logging on.

"_Golden Palace," _the website read, "_located in the heart of Singapore City, is a restaurant of outstanding Asian cuisine."_

So, a restaurant. That certainly wasn't a problem. Alex found the exact location, and noted it down, as well as the contact address. Best to make a reservation than arrive and find it full.

After switching off the laptop and letting it charge, Alex threw all his dirty clothes in the bathtub with some soap, swished them round and took a shower. They wouldn't be sparkling clean, but they would be decent. Perhaps he should buy some washing powder from the grocery in 100AM.

When he stepped out of the shower and dried himself off, he put on the bathrobe provided by the hotel, rinsed his clean-ish clothes and hung them on the washing line above the bathtub. He had no clothes pegs, but he hoped they would at least dry overnight. If not, well, whoever he was meeting would have to bear the smell of wet dog. He left the fan on to aid the drying process.

Climbing into the made bed after brushing his teeth almost made Alex weep. It was so nice to come back to a room all cleaned for you after a beautiful meal. His laptop was charging, his clothes were drying, his coach wasn't yelling (yet), he wasn't dying, this was a nice dwelling, and, best yet, he would soon be sleeping.

* * *

**AN: More of a filler, really... Expect an update in about a fortnight, depending on how life treats me :)**


	12. Chappie 10 - Sing a Song

**Sing a Song of Four Men**

The next morning dawned bright and quiet as it always did, though not many were around to see it. Including, unfortunately, a certain blond Briton in a certain hotel.

At ten o'clock, the sun shone through thick curtains to find Alex blearily squinting at the clock before racing into the bathroom to retrieve his drying clothes. He grabbed his laptop, the letter, his mobile – though who was going to call him he had no idea – and some cash before hurtling out the door, barely remembering to slam the button that would ensure a clean room when he got back. His date with Smithers or whoever was at ten o'clock; if he didn't move quickly he'd miss it.

A muzak version of Billy Joel's _Uptown Girl_ played lightly while Alex bounced on the balls of his feet in the lift. He was out and on Tanjong Pagar Road before the voice finished its 'Doors_ opening!_' routine.

Continuing down the road, Alex eventually turned right towards the MRT station. Upon reaching the brick building, he followed a pack of people down the escalators, past a whole row of eateries, round a corner and into the heart of the station.

Under the gaze of many cameras that made him feel a pang of sympathy for Winston Smith, he approached a ticket machine and entered the details of his trip. Thinking of the book, Alex felt his mood plummet like Nile's body had from the balloon back at the end of his first encounter with SCORPIA. What would he do if Smithers betrayed him and was sending him to his doom as Charrington had Winston?

But he did trust the man, if not the rest of MI6, and so he took the MRT to Orchard Road.

xxx

Golden Palace was an elegant place, with plum carpets, ebony wood and a golden ceiling. Chandeliers hung above the tables, scattering light and illuminating the wide expanse. Waiters smartly clad in black and white uniforms pushed trolleys and led hungry customers to empty tables.

The man at the front of house was elderly, the quintessential long-bearded Chinese sage with a red tang suit and black trousers. Smiling genially, he led Alex to a table in the middle of the room for eight, a number Alex had chosen just in case Smithers was bringing company. Alex thanked the man and sat, surveying the restaurant for a familiar face.

The food trolley arrived, and Alex accepted something called 'cha siu bao', a fluffy white bun with red meat in the centre. He nibbled at the hot treat, trying not to drool or get too burnt.

He finished the bun about five minutes later, but still couldn't see any familiar faces around him. Looking at his watch, he was put at ease. It was only ten-twenty. Smithers couldn't have left yet, surely. He sipped at his water, trying to resist the smells that surrounded him.

Smithers had to have a reason for contacting him, Alex thought. He would, no doubt, have a plan. Although Alex had already planned a plan without the gadget-master, and although Smithers probably realised that, he was the sort of man to eagerly inflict his ideas upon others just so they could admire his ingenuity.

But he wouldn't come all this way simply because he wanted to show off. No, there had to be another reason for this meeting – employees of MI6, no matter who they were, weren't supposed to meet up for social reasons. Perhaps there was some new information Alex needed that was too sensitive to send through the post, especially as MI6 was not supposed to be helping him. He poured himself half a cup of tea, watered it down with some more water and burnt his tongue testing its temperature.

What could Alex have overlooked that Smithers or MI6 hadn't? In his mind, he'd been rather good so far, finding out about fishhead and so forth. There was no way they could have found icy before him. He doubted MI6 even knew icy existed, if Alex had only just figured out that icy was next on the list of People Trying to Kill Alex Rider. Although, if he was right about Blunt's hint to go to Brazil, they had found out about fishhead before Alex had.

A waiter materialised on his right and pointed with raised eyebrows to an ovaloid plate covered with limp leaves and a dark brown sauce. Alex accepted the greens to keep him company. He poked at one with a chopstick. Despite it being a vegetable and therefore detestable, his mouth watered. Shrugging, he began to methodically devour the things.

Maybe it had nothing to do with extra information, and MI6 – through Smithers – merely wanted to give him backup of some sort. They had said that they were prepared to assist him, albeit indirectly. Maybe they'd found out about the fire and decided they could spare a magical phone that would send off a distress signal to Britain and some group of soldiers ready to jump on a helicopter to Singapore.

Unlikely. Singapore was too far away from Britain. Maybe they'd base them in the embassy, but Alex couldn't imagine that they would spend that amount of money, resources, effort and time on some ex-spy they couldn't even take proper responsibility for.

He wiped his mouth on a napkin and killed some time attempting to balance his chopsticks carefully on their holder so that neither end touched the table. His wristwatch said that Smithers was half an hour late. Or perhaps, when Alex hadn't arrived at 10 o'clock sharp, they'd decided to leave.

What if Smithers wasn't coming? Alex was counting on _someone_ to arrive, not only because he didn't want to pay for the meal but also because he would feel, well, let down. It was one thing to be unable to track Smithers down when the gadget-maestro didn't know he was coming, and quite another to be stood up in a reasonably expensive restaurant after dedicatedly decoding a secret letter, simply because he'd been a few seconds – well, alright, _minutes_ – late.

Alex picked up his neatly folded napkin dramatically and threw it across the table messily. He looked around to see if anyone had seen his childish fit, but they all seemed unaware. Either that or they were very good at staring intently at their own tables in the milliseconds before his accusing gaze landed on them.

There was a small commotion at the front of the restaurant. A group of tourists were emphatically demanding that they be let into the restaurant, despite being unable to say whether or not they had a table booked – probably not, Alex thought drily – or how many seats they wanted at their table.

He rolled his eyes and accepted another dish, this time something that sounded like 'hum soy gow', whatever that meant. After replacing the lid, he stood up to reach over and place it in the middle of the table so he wouldn't be tempted to eat it as quickly as he had the other food. It wouldn't do to be completely bloated once Smithers turned up. _If _he turned up. He'd wait until eleven o'clock.

A shout erupted from the group at the entrance as he sat back down and folded his arms. Glancing over, he saw one of the group break past the wall of uniformed staff to grab a white napkin from the nearest table.

In front of the man, a short waiter waved his arms ineffectively. The man's friend had also made it through the line, but he seemed to be on the waiter's side as he leapt and pranced about the agile other man, trying in vain to grab the napkin off him.

Distracted by these lunatics, the other staff members soon joined the dance of the napkin, leaving the other two tourists hovering awkwardly like two flies above a plastic roast beef. With half-hearted movements they swiped at the napkin as it came flying round. Upon meeting with failure, one of them rolled his eyes and slumped, as though they had suffered this routine many times before.

The other called out plaintively, "Guys, you're acting like children."

Just as the restaurant staff called in reinforcement from a nearby shop, the napkin-wielding maniac broke free of the crowd with a shout of triumph, leaving behind what resembled a tuxedoed rugby scrum. He began to leap over chairs and tables in a mad scramble towards the middle of the room. Incidentally, towards Alex.

Alex was ready to flee by the time the man was two tables away. From a distance, he'd thought the man's face looked remarkably familiar, but hadn't been able to place it and was sure he would recognise someone so weird. But the memory he had of the face was more serious and frightening, and definitely not as humorous as the one before him, and so he dismissed it as a mere similarity from afar.

Now that the man was about five tables closer, Alex couldn't dismiss it, because now it looked even more familiar than before.

And he was heading straight towards Alex, of all people, even though there were no empty tables around him. It was clear that the group of tourists was there for him. They were the allies sent by Smithers.

The group… Alex felt the food he'd only just consumed rise in his stomach.

It was K-Unit.

In the space of this horrifying realisation, Eagle had made the final two leaps over to Alex's table, where he presented himself to the boy and cachinnated, "Fancy meeting you here, Cub!" He gave a little conspiratorial scowl in the direction of the waiters who had finished their tussle. "They wouldn't believe we had a reservation."

His face cocked towards Alex, with wide eyes and a pouting mouth that did not suit the grown man and made him look almost like a slightly too-realistic doll. It was just as frightening, if not more so, than the expressions Alex had known him by previously. "Why didn't you come and help us?"

Alex was shocked. Stupefied. Where were the cold-hearted soldiers from Brecon Beacons? Where had the sharp-eyed sniper who had never even talked to him gone? Why was Eagle being so weird, so… _childish_? Alex, polite as ever, smiled weakly and flopped his hand at an empty seat as the rest of K-Unit made their way to Alex's table.

Without any greetings save for a small wave from a grinning Ben, the men plonked themselves down at the table, leaving empty seats either side of Alex who was left feeling like the head of the meeting.

Smithers was nowhere in sight. He'd _abandoned _Alex, who was only made more uncomfortable by Snake, who was staring at him as though he were some amazing euglena under a microscope.

"You…" the Scottish man exhaled.

Eagle grabbed one of the things from the steamer basket and chomped on it happily while Ben offered Wolf some tea. Wolf scowled.

Alex scowled too, at Snake. "I what?" It would have been nice of Smithers to have given him some warning. As it was, he felt isolated and awkward and found himself wondering inanely whether Smithers or MI6 had picked these men especially or whether it was just another coincidence like Point Blanc had been (or so he told himself). Blunt didn't believe in coincidences.

Snake was oblivious. "You!" he repeated, stabbing a finger towards Alex. Eagle gulped, paused, looked at Snake, looked at Alex, then stuffed another thing from the steamer basket into his drooling mouth. Snake elaborated. "On the landing! The pot plant!"

Alex's heart dropped to his stomach to say an unwelcome hello to the food he'd just eaten. There was only one way Snake could have known about the landing incident. Why had he pretended to be a pot plant, of all things? "…You live in number 4, don't you?"

Snake nodded mutely, still staring. "And you in thirteen, it seems."

Eagle's face, previously clouded in confusion, lit up with glee. He swallowed hurriedly before blurting, "So it was little Cubbie you saw that day? The one you called me about?" Without waiting for a reply, turned his attention towards Alex. "Why were you hiding behind a pot plant?"

Wolf and Fox turned to look at Alex with incredulous – and, he imagined, slightly disapproving – faces. He tightened his crossed his arms defensively. "I was trying to escape the snipers! You know how it is!"

Snake gave him a look of apology before patiently herding Eagle's hands away from the last piece of food.

"Yeah, about that," Ben commented, offering Eagle some tea to replace the food, "Smithers sent me to get your stuff from there when he realised you'd gone." His face contorted into a wicked grin. "You have some very _interesting_ underwear."

Alex's face heated up and he directed his gaze away from his fellow agent only for his eyes to fall on Wolf, whose wrist was in a brace and who seemed to have gotten into a violent fight recently.

Eagle noticed his curious expression and gave off a bark of laughter that didn't quite match with his name, and caused several other diners to turn their heads, frowning. "Wolfie isn't very happy with you," he sang, and withdrew a yo-yo from his pocket. It was the yo-yo from Smithers, with the nylon string, and he wrapped it around his finger and started to bounce it up and down merrily.

"Why?" Alex asked cautiously.

None of the men seemed willing to give him the reason, but eventually Snake took pity on the awkward silence after Ben offered the table in general a cup of tea. "Wolf was trying to be your back-up when his motorbike got caught on a fence."

Blood rushed to fill the small spaces of Alex's face that weren't red already. He turned back to Wolf. "Sorry, I didn't know you were trying to help, I thought you were one of the…" He trailed off at Wolf's glower.

But to his immense surprise, the man muttered quietly, "S'not your fault. You weren't to know."

Luckily, the food trolley arrived once more, and the group took _chiu-chao fan guo, wu gok _and_ dao sa bao. _The names meant nothing to Alex and the others, but they accepted them anyway. Their ordering consisted of nodding at whatever the waiter suggested. Wolf began shovelling food into his mouth with commendable efficiency.

For a few minutes they ate in silence, punctuated by sniggers from Eagle, who seemed inordinately amused at everything. Ben offered Alex some tea, which he refused.

The food trolley came around again just as Wolf and Eagle began to fight over the last piece of _dao sa bao_. Their chopsticks and glares clashed as if they were in some kung-fu film. Eagle took the opportunity to make several sword-fighting sounds, to which Wolf rolled his eyes and suddenly flicked the food at Eagle's shocked face. It rebounded and fell with a light thud into his bowl.

Snake, ignoring the rest of the table, politely asked the waiter the name of a startling orange dish gleaming with oil. The waiter cleared his throat and glanced around before answering.

"It is Gwai Lo food from province of Mei Gwok, Sir."

Somehow, Alex didn't believe him, but Eagle piped up, with a grin and half-chewed food visible in his large mouth. "Why's your nametag Susan?"

The tables around Alex's turned silent, but the waiter merely laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, I lost mine and so I borrow my sister. She over there."

The soldiers' eyes followed the man's gesture to a woman with long bleached-white hair sitting with a few friends at a table, and Alex noticed Wolf grow pale.

As the waiter walked away, Ben turned to Wolf, having also noticed the man's changing complexion. "Are you okay? Is it the food? Would you like some tea?"

Wolf glared darkly at him, but even Alex, who had not seen the four for quite some time, could see that his heart wasn't in it. He lacked that certain _je ne sais quoi_ in his current glare that usually made him suitable for Unit Leader and possible Sergeant material. The man muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

"What was that?" Ben's face was positively thrilled, at the promise of gossip material from his former teammate.

"I _said_," Wolf growled, "she's my _ex-girlfriend_. She mentioned she had family here."

Eagle decided to join in after accepting one of Ben's cups of tea. "Why, Wolf, I never thought you had it in you to have a relationship with anyone!"

"That's the problem. She didn't either, after a week."

"What's the problem?" Snake asked, setting down his chopsticks and affecting concern.

"She said it was my fault. She hates me." Wolf looked around somewhat desperately for another food trolley to help him change the subject. To his dismay, they all seemed to have migrated to the other side of the restaurant.

"Hates?" Intrigued, Ben leaned forwards, forgetting the dripping teapot in his hand. "Really?"

"Last time she saw me…" He cleared his throat. "She left England."

Alex, who had been keeping half an eye on the woman in question, noticed her turn towards the table. She made as if to excuse herself and half-rose from her seat, throwing down her napkin. Alex called to Ben with an urgent whisper.

"Ben! She's coming over here."

The Liverpudlian, along with the rest of the soldiers, whipped their heads to look over at the woman stalking towards them in her eggplant-coloured dress with an expression that mirrored the quiet before a storm.

Wolf lost his characteristic saturnine appearance and instead had taken on the guise of a man faced with flogging by scented bootlaces. "We have to get out of here," he announced gravely.

Alex, with all the ingenuity that had helped him many times before, spotted an incoming train of food trolleys and alerted the men to his plan in hushed tones. As soon as they were blocked from the woman's sight, they each clambered onto the lower shelf of a cart, pushing the extra cutlery and trays that were on them under neighbouring tables as quietly as possible. FFSAS training was useful for some things, at least.

The trolleys brought them round to the entrance of the restaurant, where they departed mostly unharmed. They peeked a look back at the woman standing in consternation at the vacated table, then straightened and gave a collective sigh of relief.

Snake muttered a few soothing words to the pale Wolf but Eagle grinned widely, flourishing a bundle of cloth napkins from their table. At closer look, Alex saw a multitude of desserts that had previously been on the trolley on which Eagle had hidden. At their incredulous looks, the man widened his eyes and grasped the food protectively. "What? I wasn't finished!"

xxx

K-Unit, somehow, managed to wrangle a room right across the hall from Alex's. He wasn't _un_happy with this arrangement, but nor was he really that happy either. Eagle still had possession of the yo-yo, and teased him with it as he followed them into their shared room.

"Could you stop that, Eagle?" Alex asked after he had been hit with the thing for the tenth time.

Eagle only grinned, and hit him again.

Sighing in resignation and wondering how on earth he had ever thought that these men were in any way terrifying, he entered the room and stopped short. Eagle crashed into his back and swore. Alex smiled.

On the single bed similar to the one in Alex's room, all the soldiers' bags had been piled haphazardly. Four army cots surrounded the floor around the bed in various states of disarray. Alex amused himself by trying to guess which one was whose.

The one that had been made neatly and precisely with crisp edges was surely Snake's; he practically exuded OCD with his neatly trimmed nails and pernickety twitches. Next to it was probably Eagle's cot, if only for the amazingly rumpled sheets it suffered.

Under the window, a Sherlock Holmes book lay face down on the pillow. It seemed to Alex the sort of cot left by Ben, who struck him as a bookish sort of man. Only one cot remained, one that was neither messy nor neat and with no personal artefacts. By elimination, it had to be Wolf's.

Alex stepped aside to let the men tramp past, eagerly anticipating the reveal.

Snake didn't go to any cot. Instead, he walked over to the bed, and hoisted several bags; bags which, now Alex looked a bit closer, looked exactly like the ones he had left in his flat back in Chelsea.

"Here." The man tossed the bags at a surprised Alex, who grunted under the impact. Yes, they were definitely the bags he'd left back in Chelsea. But why did it feel so anti-climatic when he'd been longing for them the whole trip?

"Thanks," he muttered. Snake lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.

Meanwhile, Ben entered the bathroom, and started brushing his teeth with a pink, glittery toothbrush. The rest of K-Unit didn't seem surprised, so Alex figured this was a normal occurrence.

Eagle was, unwittingly, the first to reveal to Alex his cot. Finally abandoning the yo-yo, he collapsed onto the cot under the window that Alex had predicted to be Ben's, and started reading the book avidly, while Wolf stood by him and looked moodily out the window at the street below.

Alex tried not to gape at his misjudgement, but consoled himself with the fact that his other guesses were probably correct. Snake the neat, Wolf the messy and Ben the ambiguous? Ben worked for MI6, he remembered, which would account for being overly ambiguous, if there was such a term.

But he was wrong again.

Ben finished brushing his teeth and strolled back into the room, eyes flicking disinterestedly over the intensely reading Eagle, the intensely brooding Wolf and the intensely … sleeping Snake, who opened his eyes in time to see a pillow flying towards his face. He sneezed and glared at Ben before escaping to brush his teeth as well.

Having rid the bed of its occupant, Ben began dumping the messy cot's entire load onto it. Alex was gobsmacked once more. Ben was the messy one, not Wolf? He had thought Ben was the most known to him out of the four soldiers, but if he couldn't even guess _his_ bed, what chance did he have of getting the others?

Quickly he reviewed his choices: there was only the neat cot and the ambiguous bed left. The neat one _had_ to be Snake's; there was no way he could see Wolf ever being as anal as the Scotsman. That made Wolf ambiguous. Well, that wasn't so bad, he reflected, the only two surprises would have been the messy Ben and the scholarly Eagle.

Alas, logic was not on his side as Wolf tired of his enigmatic staring and wandered over to the neat cot, meticulously adjusting the covers so that the slight rumples caused by his sitting down were corrected.

So _Snake_ was the ambiguous one. Alex had got every single one of his guesses wrong. How could that be? Usually he was so intuitive!

"What are you looking at?" Wolf interrupted his bemoaning. "You've been standing there for centuries!"

Alex's eyes narrowed. "Like you can speak, channelling your menace out the window for so long, _Wolf_."

Ben looked up from his nest on the bed and sighed. "You two are fighting already? Wolfie, remember the promise we made to old Q-boy."

Wolf switched his glare to Ben. "'_Old_ Q-_boy_'? What an oxymoron. And anyway, Smithers didn't say we had to get along."

"Do you even remember what he said?" Eagle broke in, not bothering to look up from his book.

Silence. Then—

"Of course I do!" exclaimed Wolf. He cleared his throat. "He said 'honour and protect Agent Rider until you find out what in the blazes is going on.'"

Snake exited the bathroom and collapsed onto his ambiguous bed. "It wasn't _really_ a promise, you know. Otherwise he would have worded it better. I mean, _honour_? What has that got to do with anything? Holmesie?"

Blinking, Eagle looked up. "Don't call me that, Wormy," he snapped, snapping the book shut. "He was probably going for dramatic."

"It fell apart at the end, then," Ben observed. "Alex, stop standing there like a loon. Here, sit on the bed." He shuffled over marginally to give Alex some perching space.

Witheringly, Wolf cuffed Ben's leg. "He won't want to sit in that dog's breakfast. Grab a chair from somewhere."

"There are only two chairs between our two rooms," Snake admonished. "One of them is in his room and it won't fit through the door, and the other is bolted to the floor."

Alex looked at the men. The men looked at Alex.

Eagle shattered the silence. "Oh, for Heaven's sakes, sit on the windowsill. Call yourselves resourceful; honestly."

Alex sat on the windowsill.

"So," Wolf began, "anyone have any idea how we're to 'honour and protect' baby-Cub here?"

Ben aimed a kick at Wolf's shoulder. "Why don't you explain to us the situation, Alex?"

"We know everything up until you disappeared into Brazil," advised Snake.

"Er," Alex said. "Well, basically, there's a guy who goes by the name 'icy', and he's here in Singapore, and I think he's behind all the attacks."

"Concise," Eagle remarked. "Anything else? Have you found where he lives? What happened in Brazil?"

"Er," repeated Alex. "No, I haven't found out where he lives. And… In Brazil I, er, talked with one of icy's minions."

"Well, that was informative," Wolf scowled. "Nothing at all?"

"No," Alex reiterated.

Ben smiled at him reassuringly. "Well, that's why we're here!"

"Anyone have any ideas?" Snake asked. "Holm— er, Eagle?"

Eagle sniffed. "Actually, I do," he replied, "have an idea, that is. We should find out where he lives, then plant a bomb under his house."

Nodding, Fox muttered, "Transmissions, that's how you knew his pseudonym, yes? We can do a trace on that. Give me your laptop. It's the one from the safehouse in Greenland, yes? What on earth made you go there? Didn't Blunt tell you to go straight to Brazil?"

Alex left the men to fetch his laptop. When he arrived back, Wolf was scribbling out a plan to confirm that the house would, indeed, be icy's. He didn't want any civilian to get hurt – not because civilians' lives were important to him, but because there was 'a lot of nonsense if one of them got themselves killed'. Alex handed the laptop to Ben, who accepted it eagerly and began his typing.

"You can't waltz in like that," Snake was explaining patiently. "It's much too dangerous. You'll get yourselves injured and then who'll have to drag your sorry arses home?"

"But I have to get that close to hook it up; you know that," whined Eagle. "Wo-olf!"

"He's right," Wolf agreed reluctantly. "But perhaps we could con him into letting us in?"

Snake nodded thoughtfully. "We can't go in as police or anything, though. Maybe council people?"

"People talking about the water mains, maybe?" asked Eagle. "Then you ask him to watch the water in the bathroom while Wolf and I do our business?"

The Scotsman hummed his agreement. "But I can't keep him there by myself, and Fox can't help. He should be doing the computers. Wolf, you could organise Fox and Eagle and give the signal to go."

"Cub could go with you," Wolf suggested. "Well – how old are you, Cub?"

Alex thought quickly. On the one hand, the a younger age would impress them more with his results back in training, which was very, very tempting, but they would also be horrified to think that MI6 would go so far as to recruit a teenager. On the other hand, being older would make them think of him more as part of the team in this mission, but it would insult to the soldiers, his being sent to the FFSAS a few years before anyone else was allowed.

"I'm seventeen," he lied, watching their reactions.

Wolf only nodded, while Eagle seemed not to have heard. An undefinable expression flickered over Ben's face, but he seemed to accept Alex's answer, and Snake frowned a little, but that could have been thinking about the mission. All in all, it seemed he was safe. Phew.

"You'd have to grow some stubble," Eagle commented matter-of-fact. "Maybe you could be an apprentice or something."

"Alright, that's it!" Ben looked up from the laptop and stretched.

Alex leaned to peer at the screen. "You have his address?"

"No," Ben confessed, "but there's nothing we can do for at least another eight hours. It's searching through your databan—"

"I'm sure no one really cares," drawled Eagle. "I'm tired. Can we watch a movie?"

The other soldiers sighed in tandem. "There's a channel called HBO that only does movies," Snake acquiesced. "Why don't you go and get some sleep, Alex? We won't be able to do anything else tonight."

Eagle gasped in horror. "No!" he wailed. "Alex, Cubby, you have to stay with me! Watch a movie! They might have Arnie on! Come o-on!"

"Get a room, you two," Wolf growled. "Some of us want to watch more important things."

Alex left. Eagle traipsed after him.

xxx

Watching movies with Eagle was like watching movies with Jack. The man tolerated nothing but silence, and stared at the screen with such a look of intense concentration that it appeared as if he were attempting to spot the switch in a magic trick.

He sat, cross-legged on the bed, arms in his lap, back hunched over. By the time the first movie ended, Alex wondered how on Earth the man could keep that position without feeling uncomfortable or getting pins and needles.

The movie finished, and the ads came on. Eagle scowled at the timer on the bottom right of the screen, counting down to the start of the next movie, and muted the TV.

The worst of being around K-Unit, Alex had learnt, were the awkward silences when the men remembered he was there. It was better when they bantered with each other and completely forgot his presence. Sitting next to Eagle with no one else in the room, Alex couldn't hope to disappear, so he decided to make the man forget his young age by distracting him with meaningless small-talk.

"I didn't know you liked books," he began.

Wow. That was the best he, an ex-spy, could come up with? Alex could only hope he hadn't sounded to accusative. Didn't want to alienate himself even more, did he?

Eagle dragged his eyes reluctantly away from the timer to look at Alex. "You don't know a lot about me," he intoned ominously, then went back to staring at the timer.

Alex was debating with himself whether Eagle had been joking when the soldier spoke again, the words forcing themselves slowly through his mouth as his concentration on the timer waned a little. "I like mystery novels, spy novels. The others think I'm putting on airs."

"Huh," grunted Alex, not sure how to respond without insulting either Eagle or the rest of K-Unit.

"They ribbed me for ages when Fox became MI6 and I stayed FFSAS." Eagle's eyes slid to Alex's again. "Sorry. I don't think you're supposed to know he's MI6. Are agents supposed to know each other? Are you an agent?"

Alex shrugged. Technically, he wasn't. Not anymore. "No."

With a strange, slightly confused look, Eagle returned his attention to the timer. "Sorry. If you don't want to watch another movie," he offered, "you can go do other stuff if you want. I'll take back the TV in the other room."

Alex shrugged again, but a smile, unbidden, grew across his face. "S'okay."

* * *

**AN: So... K-Unit. :D Are you happy with them? Wish they were different?**


	13. Chappie 11 - Sing for Supper

**Sing for Supper**

"_Smile, you son of a –"_

The shark exploded in a spray of blood and saltwater, sinking into the deep with a primal groan.

Hooper appeared, and as the men swam home, Eagle turned to Alex. "I'm hungry."

Alex turned to him with raised eyebrows, noting the darkness that had fallen outside sometime during the movie. He was about to make a comment about the man's size maybe growing to match his appetite when he felt his own stomach give a pang of hunger and decided to remain silent.

As Alex was working to suppress the growl threatening to emanate from his intestines, Eagle rose swiftly from the bed and turned the TV off with a _click._

"Come on," he beckoned with impatience, "let's go get the others."

Acquiescing, Alex rose from the bed and grabbed the room card.

Together, the man and boy walked across the hallway, where they knocked loudly on the door. A few moments passed, during which Alex was sure Wolf or Snake was peering through the spyhole, and then the door opened. Eagle bounded into the room like a slinky.

"Guys, I'm hungry! Can we go and eat now?"

"What time is it?" Wolf asked.

Snake looked at his wristwatch, brows furrowing as he read the hands. "Half-six."

Ben looked up from where he sat hunched over the laptop, casually minimising the page he was currently on. "Is it really? I guess I lost track of time…" He rubbed his eyes.

Eagle grinned. "You always lose track when there's a computer nearby! Why, I remember when–"

"So where do you want to eat?" a suddenly flushed Ben cut him off. "Snake?"

Snake shuffled his feet, abashed. "Well, you know how I was looking at all those pamphlets…"

"Like always," Wolf broke in.

"Yes, well, a lot of them recommended eating at the hawkers markets. Did you know that the markets only came about when–"

"Yes, we get it," Ben drawled. "Get to the point."

Snake glared half-heartedly at the man. "As I was saying–"

"Reeaally slowly!" whined Eagle.

"_As _I was saying!" Snake almost shouted. He took a deep breath, then continued, "The Maxwell Road Hawker Centre is quite close and has good ratings."

Wolf frowned. "Shouldn't we eat in the hotel? Isn't there a supermarket connected?"

"Don't you like eating out?" Eagle teased him. "Is the Asian food scary to widdle Wolfy?"

"No! I just… Wouldn't it be safer for the laptop? Is there internet outside?"

Snake rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Wolf, you have to learn to embrace the culture," he scolded. "How is anybody supposed to improve relations between countries, if close-minded people like you are refusing to even try the food?"

Amidst Wolf protesting, Eagle chortling and Snake berating, Alex noticed the beginnings of a headache that certainly hadn't been there before.

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"Wolfy's being naughty! Racist Wolfy!"

"You shouldn't be so culturally insensitive!"

Alex caught Ben's eye.

"Stop!" they yelled simultaneously.

The noise stopped.

Ben added, "The laptop's finished. It's initialising the information now. It doesn't need internet."

"Thank God. Otherwise Wolf'd imprison us here forever," sniped Alex.

Eagle turned a hurt look towards the two MI6 agents for ruining the migraine-inducing atmosphere he'd created.

Wolf grunted.

Snake sighed. "Let's go, then, since none of you seem to be fussy about dinner." He levelled a stern look at Wolf.

"Oh, all right," the man acquiesced, and then they were out of the door, to the first floor.

Outside, the air was as humid and stickily hot as before, though a faint wind took the edge off the heat. The four men walked down Tanjong Pagar Road in two pairs, Alex bringing up the rear.

Finally alone, Alex was able to withdraw into himself and contemplate the present and the future. Concerned as they were for him, the blond was sure none of K-Unit actually realised what he was up against. icy, and all the attacks, didn't seem like some run-of-the-mill terrorist. They were targeted specifically at him, but icy didn't seem to care whether others got hurt in the process. He was seemingly unconcerned with the threat of police – Alex remembered the Brazilian fireman's ominous hints.

What was more, icy was resourceful: he was _dangerous_. He had a lot of power, to be able to control fishhead, and to be able to light the fire back at the _pousada_, and glue the window shut. That sort of thing took time and skill. Just how were they supposed to confront him, even if they managed to track icy down? No doubt numerous assassins and so forth surrounded him.

Alex was brought out of his musings as they reached their destination: a covered area on raised ground, radiating light, sound and smell. His stomach, which had fallen silent, now reawakened with a boisterous growl.

The men turned to look at him in amusement.

"Hungry, are we?" smirked Ben. Alex wondered where his camaraderie had gone. He thought quickly for a witty answer.

"Aren't you?" And failed.

Ben raised his eyebrows, not bothering with a response. They headed towards the food.

The hawker centre environment maintained a bewildering ambience that was unique to its kind – or else it seemed that way to Alex. Travelling with Ian had introduced him to many different cultures, some of which he hadn't even known the language of, but never had he been to Singapore.

Snake, however, seemed very much at home, though he was probably stranger to the Singaporeans than Alex was. In his highland brogue thickened with excitement, he reeled off facts indistinguishable to the others.

"And then the government… Hainanese chicken! You know the food's good when… roads! And windows! …Takeaway costs extra!"

Eagle quirked an eyebrow. "Why don't we sit down?"

"Good idea," Wolf replied before Snake could fit in another word. He led the way to one of the many small round tables that dotted the space between stalls.

Snake looked ridiculous sitting down. The man's long legs stuck out at an obtuse angle as he perched on the stools. They were only just large enough for Alex to sit with his legs at right angles.

"Alright." It was obvious to Alex why Ben had been picked by MI6. The man looked comfortable in this unfamiliar setting and more like a leader than Wolf at the moment. "Snake, you stay here and mind the table. Your accent might make it a bit hard for them to understand. The rest of you," and here he turned to Alex to show that yes, he was included, "order a drink and a meal for yourself. Snake, I'll get you a food and a drink. Any special requests?"

The Scottish man looked resigned at his fate. "Aye, I'll have some of that lemon ice tea, and whatever you're eating." He screwed his face up. "We probably shouldn't be having any ice, but this is Singapore and so it might not really matter."

Alex, Wolf, Eagle and Ben left the table in search of a meal.

After several laps, Alex was pretty sure he knew what he wanted to order. All he had to do now was work up the courage. It was kind of sad, that an ex-spy was terrified of ordering merely because he didn't know the language.

With a sense of disembodiment, Alex compelled his leaden legs to bring him over to his chosen stall. The Asian man looked at him blankly, and Alex briefly considered running back to the hotel and telling K-Unit he had food poisoning from lunch or something.

"Um, I, ah, I'd like a char kway tea-ow, please." He hoped that was how it was pronounced. Or at least close to it. He pointed at the sign, just to be sure.

The man nodded coolly and held up a hand. "One, two?"

"One."

"Eat here?"

Alex nodded. Somewhere in Snake's ramblings, Alex had managed to glean one important fact: sometimes in Singapore, takeaway cost extra. Thank God he'd listened at least a little.

The meal was ready within five minutes. Alex accepted the steaming plate with two hands after grabbing a handful of chopsticks.

Next on the list was a drink. There had been many drink stands, some with drinks in fridges, others in large clear containers at the front. Some stalls had advertised ice kacang as well, though Alex suspected that the colourful dish was more a dessert than a drink.

No, what Alex wanted was something simple. Not too adventurous, but not something he could get easily back home.

That something was barley water.

With more confidence than before, Alex approached the stall and ordered: "One glass of barley water, please."

One scoop with a giant ladle from a container into a glass as long as Alex's forearm and one careful placing of a thick straw that floated dangerously near the surface of the drink later, and Alex was on his way back to the table with a drink in one hand and a meal in the other.

The others hadn't arrived back yet, so Alex sat awkwardly beside Snake, who had initially surveyed his surroundings avidly, making little noises of excitement, but now sat slumped, his legs sticking out and eyes drooping.

"Tired?"

The Scot nodded, and gave Alex a small smile. "I spent the plane ride organising where we'd eat, and meet, and all that sort of stuff."

Alex tilted his head in curiosity. With such a long flight, it was no wonder Snake was falling asleep. "Do you always organise things like that?"

Snake smiled wider, as if pleased that Alex was taking an interest. "We don't really go on trips together unless with other Units, but sometimes we holiday and yes, I organise food and accommodation. Wolf might be leader," he added, "but everyone knows I have the best organisational skills for this kind of thing."

So FFSAS soldiers were allowed to meet socially, unlike agents. Interesting. Alex was about to ask what the rest of the Unit did on their trips when aforementioned men returned, each bearing a plate and a drink – double in Ben's case. The man balanced his goodies precariously; a glass in each hand, and the plates resting between the two, on his forearms.

Ever the gentleman, Snake rose and took the two plates from Ben. He examined the food, and his eyes widened. "You got chai tow kway? Nice choice."

"Actually, no, I thought I was getting carrot cake– "

"Yes, that's it. Did you know it's made of radishes?"

"Really? Damn…"

"Mmm, and there isn't any carrot in it at all. But it has heaps of vegetables!"

Fox grimaced. "Thanks for that, Snake. You know I hate vegies. I'll probably hate this dish now I know what it's made of."

Snake levelled a stern look at him. "You have to be more receptive to vegetables, Fox. You can't go around eating only dessert. Speaking of which, didn't you see the picture on the sign? Why did you think it was a cake?"

"The sign said 'carrot cake'! I thought the picture was really bad or something. How was I to know?"

"You would have if you'd only _listened_. I told you about carrot cake in the airport. I even showed you the book _There's No Carrot In Carrot Cake_!"

The MI6 agent was immediately overcome with a look of guilt that would not be out of place on a student caught with copied homework. "Yeah, well, I was busy… with security and – and stuff."

Sighing, the Snake shook his head. "Sit down. Eat it anyway. I'm sure it'll surprise you."

In the meantime, Wolf and Eagle had taken their own seats, the former with a plate of chicken and rice and a glass of what looked like, judging from the lumps, coconut juice; the latter holding a tall glass of opaque pink _stuff_ in both hands. Now, he piped up.

"Look what I got, Snake!"

Snake turned a horrified glance towards Eagle, his face growing sharper at the sight of Eagle putting the straw in his mouth and – "Eagle, no! You won't like it!"

Eagle's face screwed up, and with a valiant effort he managed to swallow. "What is this stuff?"

Ben gave him a wry smirk. "You should know; you ordered it."

"Yeah, but I thought I was being all culturally-sensitive! And besides, it was _pink_."

"Did you even buy a meal?"

Just like Fox in the face of Snake, Eagle evaded Ben's gaze. "…I thought I'd wait and see what you guys had."

Once again, Snake sighed. "It's called Bandung, and it's made of milk and rose cordial syrup. I bet it's really sweet, yes?"

Eagle nodded sadly.

"Here, I'll go buy a meal for you. My accent isn't that bad. I booked our hotel, remember?"

Wolf, who had been silently watching the proceedings, commented with an uncharacteristic snigger, "They couldn't understand you when you said 'eleven'."

Snake flushed. "Yes, but I'm sure I won't have to say… that number here." And before anyone else could comment, he left the table.

Ben sat down beside Wolf. At the awkward silence created by Snake's absence, he raised one of the drinks he'd bought. "Tea. For Snake."

Silence.

"Thought you ought to know."

Alex choked on his laugh, and at Wolf's surprised look, he said, "What? Am I not allowed to laugh?"

Eagle grinned. "Wolfie probably forgot you were here."

Snake returned before Alex – or Wolf – could respond, with a green plate of a mound of rice, some red peanuts, fried drumsticks, a boiled egg, cucumber slices, some sort of dried tiny fish and sloppy red stuff. Alex asked what it was.

"Nasi lemak. Literally 'fat rice'." At the soldiers' incredulous gazes, he elaborated. "It's rice cooked in coconut milk, with anchovies, peanuts, boiled egg, fried chicken and sambal, as you can see."

Eagle scoffed. "Yeah, of course we can see the coconut milk, it's what makes the rice so white, right? And the sambal, of course I could see that, whatever it is."

"It's a figure of speech! I'm sure even you can understand that. Sambal is a sauce, with chilli and some other ingredients."

Ben gestured impatiently. "It doesn't matter what it is. I'm sure it's very nice and I'm very hungry, so can we please eat now?"

Alex thought that was a very good idea, and evidently so did the others, because each person tucked into their meal moments later.

xxx

They returned by eight o'clock, the necessity of quick eating in the army shining through. All of them, even Wolf with his reticence, had enjoyed the meal. Even the pink drink, the Bandung Eagle rejected, had been cautiously enjoyed by Ben, who had slowly but surely sipped the glass empty as a child nibbles at strange yet somehow tasty lollies.

By ten past eight, they sat in the soldiers' room with a dim light on and the curtains drawn. Alex lolled on the bed beside the men's equipment; the men lay on their respective cots. With the TV playing softly in the background to muffle their voices, they began to formulate a Plan.

Not to Alex's great disappointment, it turned out that the laptop could not, in fact, divine icy's address. Instead, after the eight hours of trawling its databanks, all the laptop came up with was icy's mobile phone number.

"Well, that's no use," sighed Eagle gustily, staring and pouting at the ceiling.

Snake shook his head. "Not necessarily."

"What do you mean?" drawled Wolf, "You want to talk to icy?"

"No… I was thinking something more along the lines of hacking the phone or sending a virus or something."

Eagle sat up. "Can we send an actual virus? Like a cold to disable him or something? A yeerk?"

Ben raised an eyebrow. "And how would we do that?" he demanded snarkily. "Put a snail in the mail? Send it down some tubes? And what's a yeerk, anyway?"

"I don't know! I'm not the tech expert here! And for your information, a yeerk is a creature you would know all about if you were more well-read."

"Obviously it's not real," commented Snake, "Eagle never reads non-fiction."

"Clearly we should all rectify this gaping gap in our knowledge," muttered Wolf.

To Alex's great relief, the men completed their ritualistic banter, as though Wolf was the chief who always had the final say, and returned to Alex's plight.

"As I was saying," Snake explained, "we could send a virus – a _computer _virus, not a real one, Eagle! – and maybe get some more details from his phone. Technology can do that nowadays, right?"

There was a moment of silence as Ben considered the idea. "I'm sure we could, Snake, but I don't know how. The laptop didn't get that much because icy has several firewalls and anti-virus programs that stopped our signal. If Smithers were here, he'd probably be able to crack it in no time, but with what we have, it can't be done."

"Pity," said Eagle, and all was silent once more.

"Why don't we just call him?" Alex was sick and tired of planning, and waiting to be attacked, and maybe killed, or at least badly injured. He wanted to finish this whole debacle once and for all, and get back to the football season. His would probably have signed him off the team by now, never mind his co-captaincy. He'd been warned, after all.

"What, call Smithers?" asked Ben.

"No, icy."

There was a shocked silence as if they had plunged into an ocean. Then Eagle spoke up, in a small, confused voice that reminded Alex of a child. "Why would you _do_ that?"

Why? Alex didn't really know the answer to that himself. He had said it as a random suggestion, not really meaning anything of it except that he wanted this thing to _move_. It seemed that, after all this trouble, it would be a pity not to achieve something from icy's phone number, not the least to discover why he was being hunted.

Alex remembered fishhead, who hadn't really had a vendetta against him, but was simply trying to earn money. Maybe if he could talk to icy, Alex could persuade him (or her) to stop the attacks and let him be.

Out loud, he said, "Why not?"

This reply was met with a clamour of voices, all explaining why he couldn't – shouldn't – even think about calling icy. Wolf in particular was wondering how on Earth his admittedly juvenile and therefore foolish brain could even concoct such a harebrained idea, it was even worse than what Eagle could have come up with, and that was pretty weird sometimes; he should know, he was the leader, and had Alex heard a word he'd said?

Eventually, Ben noticed Alex's growing discomfort and shushed his peers. "Let's hear what Cub has to say."

Faced with the assessing eyes of all four soldiers, Alex explained his thoughts. "We don't have any other options, right? We don't know where we can find icy, we don't know how to stop him… We don't even know whether icy's really a 'he'." He took a deep breath and continued. "All we have is icy's phone number. What else can we do? At least if we call him, we might be able to negotiate, see what he wants, and why he's after me."

Ben, ever the agent, was nodding. "It's a plausible idea," he defended to his less open-minded compatriots, "And, better yet, we'd have the element of surprise on our hands. There's no defence greater than a good offence."

Wolf shook his head. "What bad guy ever wants to negotiate? That's – I don't know – stupid!"

"But you have different enemies," argued Ben. "You face people with nothing to lose, people attacking whole nations. icy's only after Alex. And we could use his motives behind attacking _only Alex_ to come to a deal."

Eagle had lost his restlessness, and sat cross-legged guru-style, a pose that somehow fitted with the man's personality. "I agree. It seems reasonable."

Snake made a sound of protest.

Wolf scowled, "It is _not_."

"No," Eagle asserted, "It _is_ a good idea, considering what other options we have – or rather _don't_ have right now."

Neither Wolf nor Snake had any rebuttal to that, and so it was that Ben dialled the number of icy with the hotel room's phone, and waited anxiously for a reply.

The phone, on loudspeaker, rang ominously.

_Rrrringg… Ring-rrrringgggg…._

Snake's eyes, dark against his skin, were pits of anticipation. Unconsciously, he leant forwards, though the sounds from the phone were loud enough.

_Rrrrrrrin–_

"Hello?"

It was a strange accent, different to the carefully cultivated hybrid of American and British accents of the Singapore train announcements, holding a certain nasal twang out of place like a dust storm in a monsoon.

"I – is this icy?"

"Who's asking?"

To Alex, it sounded as though the voice said "Hooze arksing?" but he stayed silent and let Ben answer.

"My name's John. You've been, um, attacking a – a friend of mine...?"

A pause, then the voice wheedled out, "Why isn't _he_ talking ta me, then?"

Ben looked to Alex, panic almost but not quite hidden. Alex gestured wildly for him to say something, _anything, _but the man didn't seem to understand, and shoved the phone at him.

With trembling hands, Alex put the phone to his ear.

"Hello? This is the person you've been attacking…"

"Really?" The voice seemed to brighten, like a small child receiving a compliment. "Have Oi been doing well, then?"

Alex didn't know what to say. "Well, um… you've certainly been, er, very… _eager…_"

Silence, a cough, and then, "Never moind that," the voice mumbled gruffly. "Oi won't stop attacking you until you give me what Oi want. Meet me tamorrah at seven-and-ten-hundred hours by the Singapore Rivah in the place that was once a post office. A post office, roight?"

A heavy clunk sounded, and Alex was met with the dial tone. Confused, he replaced the phone on its stand, and sat heavily on the bed. It almost seemed as if icy had known he'd call.

"Um," Eagle's tentative voice brought him back to the real world. "Didn't you want to parley with him?"

Alex stared at the man blankly. "Hm? Oh, yes! We parleyed; well, sort of." He grimaced at the others' questioning faces. "He told me to meet him tomorrow somewhere…"

No-one replied, and Alex felt as though they were waiting for something more. He reviewed what he'd just said, then remembered. "Seven-and-ten-hundred hours, by the Singapore River in the place that was once a post office. Do any of you know what that means?"

They did not, but Snake held his hands in a steeple. "The post office is probably mentioned in some brochures, I'm sure, as a historical heritage sight. And seven-and-ten… Well that's seventeen, and seventeen-hundred hours is…"

"Five o'clock in the afternoon," said Eagle promptly, as if proud of his extensive knowledge.

Snake fidgeted on his seat. "Anyway, Alex, what are you going do now?"

"I don't know," Alex sighed. "Research the post office, I suppose. Are there any brochures in particular you think might mention it?" He slumped backwards onto the bed, fatigue making him more comfortable around the men than was usual.

Ben looked at him. "How about you go to bed – you're a teenager; you need more sleep anyway – and we'll look through the brochures for you."

Against his brain which agreed wholeheartedly with Ben's suggestion, Alex frowned and shook his head. "I'm not a child; I'm, er, seventeen, remember? Nearly eighteen. And this is my problem. I should be taking care of it."

"You sound just like Harry Potter," Eagle quipped, "and that's not a good thing. You aren't a hero with a prophecy over his head."

Alex shook his head. "No," he insisted, "it's fine. It's not as if I'm sacrificing my life or anything. This is research. It isn't even nine-thirty, yet."

Snake raise his hand, and then dropped it as if still shaking off the effects of school. "I, for one, think it's fine if Alex does the research. That way, Alex will hopefully have a better idea of where he meets icy; escape routes and all of that."

Wolf, Alex noticed, seemed to have fallen asleep while sitting, his eyes gazing blankly at the phone. But, feeling Alex's gaze on him, Wolf turned towards the boy and drew his brows together. "Mmmm."

Ben turned. "What was that, Wolfie? One grunt for yes, two grunts for no?"

"Mhmm." Wolf's ears were slowly infusing with pink. "I mean, yes. To Alex, not to you. I mean, Alex, he shouldn't sleep – you know…"

Normally, Alex would have held in his laughter, but under these circumstances, tired and affected by the atmosphere of friendliness surrounding him, he couldn't, and laughed. Loudly.

Eagle broke next, causing even Snake to snigger. Wolf opened his mouth, closed it, and muttered, "Who made it Pick On Wolfie Day?"

Eyes streaming, Ben clapped Wolf on the back. "It's alright, Wolf-man. We all love you."

Wolf scowled. "The feeling is not mutual, I assure you."

"Wow," exclaimed Snake, "Such long words! I never knew you had it in you."

"Shut up."

The room went into a momentary peaceful silence, and Alex grabbed the brochures next to the phone. As he opened the first one, Ben procured a pack of cards from somewhere, dealing to himself, Wolf and Snake; and Eagle returned to his book. Even though the men were not actively helping Alex, it was comforting knowing that if he _did_ ask, they _would_ help.

The brochure Alex had picked didn't seem very promising; it focused more on festivals than historical sites, but after years of Research Tasks in school, he'd learnt to read every source thoroughly, just in case. Quantity not quality, since quality was a rare faith… or something. Meanwhile, out of the corner of his eye, Alex watched Snake make the first move, placing down the three of hearts.

Wolf frowned. "What are we playing?"

Ben picked up a card from the stack in the middle and handed it to Wolf. Smugly. "Asking the rules."

Still looking bemused, Wolf tentatively placed down the king of hearts. Ben copied him with the queen.

From the Orchard Road lights to the Merlion, the brochure certainly was interesting. But not what Alex wanted. He finished reading it, and picked up the next brochure, trying half-heartedly to not focus on the game of cards the others were playing.

Snake had taken his turn with the ten of hearts, and now Wolf was frowning again, clearly with no hearts left in his hand. He looked constipated, and tentatively placed the ten of spades down.

Ben grinned. "Failure to call spades."

"Wha –?"

Snake sighed. "When you place a card of spades down, you have to say what card it is."

The grin on Ben's face widened, if that was at all possible. He handed Wolf his penalty card, but also a card to Snake. "Explaining the rules."

Snake rubbed his head and rolled his eyes.

Alex furrowed his brow. He was sure he had missed something – otherwise why else did this game seem so weird? – but Wolf seemed lacking of knowledge too. With a firm decision to concentrate on his Research, the boy wrenched his attention back to the brochures.

_Gardens by the Bay__ was crowned with the prestigious World Building of the Year prize…_

"Have a nice day," said Ben, and Alex looked up. Confusion spread through his mind like the musky, fascinating, yet repulsive smell of wild fox.

But no. Snake played the seven of diamonds and retaliated snootily, "Have a _very _nice day."

Poor Wolf.

Eagle snapped his book shut with a snap that was really more of a soft _whup._ "I'm done," he announced.

"Good for you," Ben muttered, deep in concentration.

"Talking!" cried Snake triumphantly, and yes, Ben conceded and took a card.

"Taking too long," the MI6 agent commented to Wolf breezily, giving him another card.

Wolf looked ready to burst into tears – manly ones, of course. It seemed that even the slightest twitch could get him a card.

Eagle turned on the television.

Alex gave up trying to understand the game, but the sound of the TV had taken over distracting him. For some reason, Eagle had abandoned the movie channel, and was instead watching a pretty young Singaporean woman extolling the virtues of several tourist spots around the island.

For the moment, the television was forgotten in favour of a particularly strenuous reading of a chunk of text that spanned an entire page. It took much of Alex's concentration to keep his mind on the text, but years of slogging through books, and then moving on to internet pages had taught Alex, if nothing else, the supreme skill of skim reading.

This, though, was forfeit as the TV once again caught Alex's attention. The pretty host had given way to a middle-aged man, balding with glasses, who read with the kind of voice Alex's history teachers had utilised. Despite this, Alex's attention had been successfully captured by the key words… _Post Office_.

"…Post Office is fondly remembered in the structure of the Fullerton Building. The postal counter used to stretch from the current location of the bar counter in Post Bar to Jade Restaurant. At 300 feet long, it was reputed to be the longest in Southeast Asia…"

Eagle got it as soon as Alex and they both let out cries of triumph.

Wolf set down his cards. "I give up! Eagle and Alex have found the post office and – and – so there!"

Ben and Snake shared a Look. The Scotsman shrugged. "You win," he said to Ben, who responded, somewhat solemnly, with a catlike "_Mao_."

Meanwhile, Eagle had retrieved a phonebook and map from one of the desk's drawers. "Number… one, Fullerton Square," he read, adding, "that's a bit odd; having a whole square named after them." He ran a finger down the map. "That's near the MRT station. We can catch the MRT and meet icy in the Fullerton Hotel, then finish in time for a quick meal at Lau Pa Sat."

"Mao?" said Wolf questioningly, and Snake immediately passed him a card.


	14. Chappie 12 - Single Lady

**Single Lady**

The next morning found Alex and K-Unit sitting in the soldiers' room in the same positions as the previous night. When K-Unit had first arrived, they had visited the small supermarket in the conjoining building to the hotel, and stocked up on various snacks to tide over their massive appetites between meals. Unfortunately, they had decided to spend breakfast in the hotel room, planning, and since sensitive information was present, they were unable to order room service.

Instead, they were raiding the fridge; however, this wasn't going to last for very long, as snacks hardly made a meal. Alex had been given the last slices of bread, spread with some traditional paste called 'kaya'. Wolf was onto his third cup of coffee of the day – the coffee cups supplied to the room were much smaller than his normal mug, apparently – Ben was sipping his tea; Eagle nibbled the remains of sushi; and Snake was eating a traditional broth called bak kut teh, cooked with boiling water from the kettle.

"Are you sure you don't want some of this lotus root, Alex?" he asked gravely. "It's very high in nutrients."

Alex shook his head, raising his eyebrows at the items in the centre of their circle. "Do we really need those, Wolf? Grenades and stun guns? How did you even get into the country?"

"We have licences. And of course we need them," Wolf frowned, "Murphy says so."

Ben laughed. "Gee, Wolf, I thought _spies_ were meant to be paranoid, not soldiers! Anyway, anyone want any tea?"

"No," came the long-suffering chorus.

Wolf took out a dirty rag from the pocket of a black bag, and began to dismantle and polish a semi-automatic handgun. The gentle, almost fond expression that adorned his face as he did so unnerved Alex, though it undoubtedly would have been more unnerving had the polishee been a puppy or something equally cute.

Meanwhile, Ben set down his teacup, and approached Alex, reaching out with his hands, grinning when the boy flinched back automatically with a look of horror. "Relax!" He dug something out from his trouser pocket. "See? I just want to bug you – that is, wire you up… ah, you know. Lift your shirt."

Alex glanced away and bit his lip. "Do the bugs really have to go there? Can't they, like, go behind my ear or in my mouth or something?"

His fellow agent frowned in mock-concern. "Aw, is widdle Awex embarrassed of showing his body in front of big, strong men?"

The blond swallowed. Oh, dear God, why? "No, it's not that– "

"Then what does it matter? Come on; take it off and bite your tongue, you animal."

"It's just…"

"What?"

"Can we at least do it somewhere private?"

The man's smirk was positively evil. "Hear that, guys? Our little Cub is growing up! He wants to _do it _with me somewhere _private_!"

Snake frowned. "Get your head out of the gutter, Fox." To Alex, he said, "I see no reason why Fox can't wire you here, but go to the bathroom if you really want. And watch out for the knives!"

Knives, indeed. Scattered on every flat surface excluding the floor, hanging on the hooks that normally carried dressing gowns were knives: Swiss Army, carbon fibre and curved kukri.

"Why have you got so many knives?"

Ben had the gall to grin. Again. "It fits with my cutting wit. Where Wolf goes for guns…"

"Right," said Alex, "and what about Eagle and Snake?"

"Eagle tends to go for the gir…" Ben trailed off. "Don't think I didn't notice you trying to distract me. I'm going to get your shirt off whether you like it or not."

"Why, I never knew you felt that way about me–"

"I'm the gutter head here, and stop using old jokes. Come here." Ben lunged at Alex, carefully avoiding the knives.

Alex stepped back. "Why can't you just give me the wires, and I can wire myself up?"

They continued in this little dance around the knives, hopping around and contorting limbs cleverly.

"What are you doing in there?" came a call from outside and Alex, about to step around Ben, hesitated. The older spy, taking advantage, shoved Alex onto the toilet where he was stunned into submission.

"Damn," he said morosely.

"Will you take your shirt off, or will I have to do it for you, little boy?" Ben leered at him, somehow managing to wave the wires suggestively.

Alex contemplated the situation. If he removed his shirt himself, he would at least have some control to the extent of removal. That way, Ben and the rest of K-Unit would never have to know of his 'souvenirs' from his missions. Particularly the one above his heart, and on his navel.

The blond lifted his shirt about an inch.

Ben rolled his eyes, but nevertheless started attaching the wires blindly under the shirt. "Do you mind lifting your shirt a _little _more? I swear I'm not into jailbait, no matter how close to adulthood you are."

"_Jailbait?_ I don't look like jailbait, do I?" Did he? Jack was always saying he had a baby face…

"No, that was me trying to reassure you."

Idiot. "Well, you weren't doing a very good job of it." Alex lifted his shirt an inch more. Reluctantly.

"Yeah, well MI6 don't hire me for my good bedside manner. If I can fake it when it counts, that's all that matters." He winked before shoving his right arm all the way up Alex's shirt to loop something around somewhere, ignoring Alex's shocked yelp and subsequent attempt to find out if human incisors really could pierce arm-skin.

Ben withdrew before the scientific experiment could begin with an inordinately cheerful, "You beast!"

In between trying to see what exactly Fox had violated on his person and keeping a stern glare on the man, Alex muttered something about sneaky foxes that were altogether too pleased with their sly manoeuvres.

Having done his job, Ben waltzed out of the bathroom as if expecting to be greeted with applause, Alex slinking along behind with narrowed eyes and crossed arms, expecting to be greeted with sympathy, or at least some chocolate. He'd seen Wolf sneak a piece from the fridge earlier.

Despite his violated privacy, as Alex watched Wolf begin polishing another gun, Fox connect some wires to the laptop and Snake offer Eagle nutritious broth, the blond spy gave a quiet sigh of relief that he'd managed to distract Ben from his scars.

xxx

At three o'clock, Snake announced that no, they could not stay in the hotel room until the very last minute, eating (or drinking, as the case may be) snacks and instant beverages from the fridge. Besides, he said, hands on hips, they were as ready as they'd ever be. Wolf had started re-polishing the first guns he'd polished, and Eagle had snuck away to the corner to read furtively, occasionally offering bits of information that he thought Alex should remember. Fox had started grinning at the laptop, typing a word every so often.

"Okay," Alex agreed with Snake, "let's go to the supermarket."

Snake turned his face to the ceiling and sighed. "I pity anyone who goes on trips with you. We're in Singapore! We should be exploring: seeing the sights and absorbing the culture, not eating from a generic supermarket and sitting in the hotel room all day, even if you aren't really here for tourism."

Fox asked with a small frown, "Where do you suggest we go, then?"

"Well," Snake began, face already brightening as he geared up to a micro-speech, "I read this great article on Chinatown –"

"But there's a Chinatown in England!"

"This one's different. Anyway, I thought we could go there."

Wolf looked up from the gun he was polishing. "I'm hungry."

"That's because you've had nothing but coffee all day," Snake smiled triumphantly. "How about the rest of you?" He turned to Eagle.

Eagle put his book down. "What wouldn't I give for a pop biscuit or a hot-and-cold goody or a google bun," he sighed wistfully.

The rest of the room stared at him.

"What?" laughed Ben.

"They don't exist; not in this world," Eagle huffed, "if they did I'd give you a toffee shock…"

"Are you hungry or not?" demanded Snake.

Eagle crossed his arms. "I suppose. Don't mind me, if you're going to be so mean about it." He turned back to his book and turned a page before muttering, "Why are there always more drinks than food in the fridge? I really would kill for some food."

"As would I," Alex reminded everyone, "I'm a growing boy."

Wolf put down his gun. "I'm with Snake. And Cub, and Eagle." His argument was simple: "Food."

Against this show of solidarity, Fox conceded.

The men armed themselves and filled their backpacks with all manner of miscellaneous equipment they thought would come in handy. Despite the man's love for knives, Ben also equipped himself with a gun. "It's unlikely in a fight that I'd actually have the time to use a knife properly. I use them for general wire-cutting and other interesting stuff."

Alex himself packed up his manbag; it had faithfully served him well so far, and he couldn't bear to part with it, should something go horribly wrong. In it, he stocked up on money and complimentary food from his own room. He also stashed all the bottles of shampoo and conditioner he could find – hey, free stuff was free stuff. It could be useful sometime.

And then they were off.

xxx

Eagle gawked at the large red oriental building located right outside the market. "What's that?"

"Hmmm?" Snake mumbled absently, "oh, that's the old Buddhist Temple. Don't dawdle. What do you think we'll need? Starfruit and jackfruit… Persimmon? Yes. And maybe chiku."

"I really have absolutely no idea what on Earth you're talking about, Snake, but I agree with you nonetheless," Wolf said, in the longest speech Alex had heard him speak since the reunion of K-Unit and Alex.

"Come on, then," urged Fox, "leave Eagle to look at the Temple while we get some food."

The three men started to walk away, leaving Alex conflicted between following them and showing solidarity towards Eagle.

The decision was made for him when Eagle suddenly jerked his head away from the Temple and jogged after the rest of his team, crying, "Don't leave me behind! I'm hungry too..."

When he caught up, Ben smirked at him. "You know we weren't _really _going to leave you behind, right?"

Eagle scowled.

"We knew you'd follow like a good little puppy – or should I say homing pigeon."

"I'm an Eagle. Not a pigeon!"

Alex got the feeling this was an old joke.

"If anything, _you're _a puppy," Eagle sulked. "For following your baser instincts for food and having no appreciation for other cultures."

"Other cultures, my arse. You wouldn't know culture unless it was a pretty woman feeding you some drivel about a native mating dance."

Eagle glanced at Alex, who quickly looked into the middle distance as if he hadn't been paying attention.

"Fox!" Eagle stage-whispered. "There are children about!"

Ben's glance was nothing but amused. "Speak for yourself."

They entered the market, still bickering.

"Right," said Snake, "We're going to get some fruit. And I don't– " he glared at Wolf, who was muttering under his breath about rabbit food, "I don't want any complaints. You've had your unhealthy breakfasts; you're going to have healthy lunches."

"You sound like my mother."

The floor of the market was wet with, explained Snake, water ("Obviously", muttered a snide Eagle) that the Singaporeans used to clean the floors, and keep fruit and vegetables ("Rabbit food," mumbled Wolf) fresh, and keep the fish and other seafood alive should they escape ("Be freed," sang Fox). Alex stayed silent and made sure to walk carefully so that the water didn't splash above his ankles.

Snake led them past tanks of fish and eels, and nets with frogs and turtles, past flower stalls and rows of meat to the very back of the market where, surrounded by shadows, shrewd ancients gazed critically over fruits shaped like tumours.

"Are you sure any of this is edible?" muttered Eagle, peeking over Snake's shoulder. "They look like painted dinosaur fossils."

"Don't be stupid; of course they're edible. I wouldn't try to poison you, would I?"

"You never know," was the rejoinder.

Snake rejected some of the more recognisable fruits: lychee, pomegranate, and pomelo_. _He bartered briefly with a wizened old man over a dragonfruit, before deciding that it wasn't worth it.

Eventually, all he managed to buy was a bunch of longan_, _a sad-looking jambu and a 'golden egg fruit', which looked less like an egg, and more like a yellow aubergine. To the bored mutters and whines of his teammates, he said, "Come on, let's find somewhere to eat."

They followed him out of the wet market, and up to the food court where tantalising smells taunted the unit. Ignoring Eagle and Wolf who were the most vocal about their complaints, Snake took a hotel water bottle from his backpack and started to wash the fruit over the floor.

"Guys..." Fox wheedled.

The Scotsman sighed. "Not you too."

"No, guys..."

"You're going to eat this whether you like it or not."

Alex looked at Fox. The agent's skin was paler than normal, and his fingers had started twitching, as if reaching for a non-existent knife.

"Snake!" pleaded Fox.

"What?!" The aggrieved man finally looked up, before seeing his teammate's face and following his gaze.

"Wolf's girlfriend is coming towards us with a gun…"

Now Wolf, who had been gazing sullenly at the many food stalls turned his head to look. "Ex-girlfriend. And I see no gun."

"That's because you're blind," joined Eagle.

"Do _you_ see the gun?"

"No."

"I don't see the gun either," said Snake.

"Oh, come on," groaned Fox. "Alex, you see the gun, right?"

Four pairs of eyes turned to the teen. He shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah."

Wolf looked ready to argue, but Fox slapped his forehead. "Why are we arguing about this? You trust me, right? So if she's coming towards us with a gun – and she doesn't look happy – we should be running. Or attacking."

"Not attacking," muttered Snake. "There are civvies about. We don't want to cause a national scandal or something. And there's no gun."

"Oh yeah? Willing to bet your life on that?"

In the meantime, Wolf's ex-girlfriend had managed to gain at least three metres of them and, as the men and teen started to leave, she raised a dangerous-looking fruit covered in spikes from a hidden pocket in her skirt and threw it with great speed at them. It splattered pink juice everywhere. She grabbed another large fruit and broke into a trotting jog, hurling fruit every which way.

And then the screaming started.

"We need to split up," Wolf barked. "Meet as soon as you can with icy. We need to get to that hotel"

Alex grimaced. "Yeah, sure."

As the men left on their separate ways, Alex swerved around a food stall and burst through a door. Behind him, the screams were dying away, replaced by whimpers and sobs. A heavy feeling settled in his stomach.

Alex stumbled as fast as he could down the wide staircase that the door had opened to. As he reached the bottom, he slowed and listened carefully. No splatting fruit. No sound.

He edged out into the sunlight, peering hard. Wolf's girlfriend – ex-girlfriend – was nowhere in sight.

With tentative steps, Alex exited the stairwell onto the pathway and into the blinding afternoon sun.

Nothing happened.

Alex took another few steps away from the safety of the stairwell.

Nothing.

He breathed a gusty sigh of relief. Nothing, not even a passing car. Had Murphy forsaken him? The blond shrugged and started to walk quickly away.

_Click-click-click!_

A quick glance behind him showed Wolf's girlfriend round a corner, catch sight of him, and begin to totter at an impressive speed on her homicidal heels.

Alex ran through the walled footpaths that closed in on him like hallways, round the twisting, turning corners, past gaudy lantern-adorned shops and statuettes of fat Buddhas.

She chased him uphill, downhill and on the flat like some swaying tower of menace, clicking as she went. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and Alex didn't know why she was after him instead of Wolf, but there was no time to think.

_Click-click-click!_

He flew past startled Singaporeans and tourists alike, who stepped, blinking, into the sun. There was more to see than could ever be seen in this country of jungle and gleaming spires, but he missed it all as he ran from the clicking menace behind.

Eventually, he managed to lose the woman and her heels and fruit outside a bright blue Indian-like religious place.

Alex looked, panting, around.

Well, the place looked familiar. But so did so many other places in Singapore. The country was cramped and confusing, and… Well, like England. But without all the home-country experience that enabled him to navigate good old London with ease.

So where was he?

Alex choked back a hysterical laugh. Escaping, all to wind up starving to death or something because he didn't know where he was. He'd have to spend the rest of his life on the run, a fugitive, forced to the jungle where he would become a wild man or something, like Bear Grylls.

An elderly woman seemed to sense his despair and approached him.

"You lost?" she asked.

He stared at her. "Yes."

"Where you go?"

Where did he…? Alex racked his brains. "Fullerton hotel."

The woman nodded. "I take you," she said, and then she turned around and started walking away*.

Bemused, Alex followed.

She took him up a road lined with terraced shophouses of almost every different colour: yellow, blue, red. Crossing a road, they transitioned to steel and glass buildings, with Singaporeans in suits, and swanky cafés that served Western food. Past the OCBC bank, and a burger shop, with colonial houses on the other side of the road. Water features and palm trees and road works.

Eventually the woman stopped and pointed at a large white building. "There. You go there."

Alex thanked her gratefully, and with a pleased demeanour, she wandered off.

* * *

_*This might seem a little unrealistic, but it has happened to me on numerous occasions, so I thought it was worthy of an inclusion in this story._


	15. Chappie 13 - Sing - I give up

**Sing - I can't think of any more punny titles related to 'Singapore'...**

It was clear that K-Unit had already arrived at the Fullerton Hotel before Alex had been led there by the helpful lady; like heavyweight giraffes, they crowded around a yellow Ferrari with muted voices filled with excitement.

"Do you think the owner is Icy?" Eagle was murmuring. "D'you think he'll let us drive it?"

"Nah," butted in Alex to let them know he was there, "I don't think it's his."

The men turned to face the teen.

"Why'd you take so long?" Fox taunted, though Alex could see the way the tension in his shoulders eased.

Alex glowered at Wolf. "Your girlfriend chased me all the way to a temple. I had to walk quite a distance to get here," he added pompously.

Wolf looked uncomfortable. "_Ex-_girlfriend. Maybe she's with Icy?"

Snake scoffed. "You can't ignore your problems, Wolf. If you have a problem with girlfriends, you have to acknowledge them. Show you can deal with them."

"But I don't –" Wolf reddened. "She – It wasn't me!"

Eagle snickered. "Well, if you're going to take that attitude, of course she left. Haven't you heard of 'it's not you; it's me'?"

Fox clapped Wolf on the back. "They're just joking, Wolfman. But seriously, you need a relationship guidebook or something." Aside to Alex, he muttered, "You should probably go meet Icy." He glanced at his watch. "Leave us to deal with the relationship issues. We'll have your back."

"Yes, you should go," agreed Snake, a little redundantly.

Alex shrugged and entered the hotel.

The Fullerton Hotel was a sumptuous place of high ceilings, polished floors and golden furnishings. Chocolate-brown velvet curtains draped along one side, a simple background to the leather armchairs and koi pond central to five staircases. A walkway provided a circuit around the pond along the perimeter of the building.

A hotel attendant approached Alex. "Are you… looking for Mr Dù?"

Alex have him a blank look.

"Mr Dù Aìshì?"

"Icy?"

"Yes!" The man nodded, with a wide smile. "I bring you to him."

"Er, good. Yes. Thanks."

The man led him around the koi pond to a hotel buffet, with posters advertising a '_Special Occasion Chocolate Buffet!' _in happy, curling letters.

When he had seated Alex, the waiter withdrew an envelope made of some sort of thick parchment from somewhere in his suit. "Mr Dù ask me to give this to you after you make your friends come over here."

Alex frowned, but glanced around the hotel lobby until he spotted Snake. He gestured for the man to come.

"What's going on?" Snake asked.

The blond shrugged. "No idea. Icy said I had to call you in, you know, because you're my _friend._" He looked at Snake meaningfully. "My _only_ friend."

"No," said the waiter, "many friends. Mr Dù say you have four."

Snake furrowed his brows, having caught on. "Four?" he enunciated dramatically. "But there's only two of us – including you, Alex."

Alex didn't know whether to laugh or groan at Snake's terrible acting skills. "I don't know; maybe he miscounted."

The waiter had folded his arms and was looking sternly at the two Europeans.

Eagle was called over. Reluctantly. "What's up? You alright?"

"Icy said to call over _all_ my friends – you and Snake."

"No," repeated the waiter, shaking his head, "Many; not a couple."

Eagle seemed to get the idea quickly enough. "We're not a couple," he interjected indignantly, "And what do you mean by many? There's only us."

The waiter pursed his lips, and started tapping his patent-leather clad foot. "I will not give you Mr Dù's message."

"Get Wolf to come," sighed Snake.

The third friend was called over. "Where's Fox?" he asked obliviously.

Alex exhaled noisily, as the waiter, triumphant, raised a single eyebrow and sneered.

"Where is Fox?" the waiter mocked Wolf. "Yes, where is Fox?"

Wolf seemed to realise he'd made a mistake, flushing and standing paralysed. "Uh, what I meant to say was…"

"No," the waiter interrupted, shaking a slender finger at them, "where is Fox?"

"In the forest?" muttered Alex.

There was no humour in the waiter's face. "I will call Fox for you," he said. He took a deep breath, and opened his mouth –

"Wait!" yelled Alex desperately, reddening as several nearby patrons turned to stare at him. "I will… I will get Fox."

The waiter smiled nastily. "Yes."

Alex looked desperately around the hotel lobby. However, it seemed Fox had paid too much attention to his lessons in spycraft, because Alex was finding it difficult to find the man. He stood up, waving away the waiter's protestations, and left the table to search for Fox.

Fox wasn't watching the koi; nor was he pretending to read the information-plaques on the walls, or pretending to shop in the hotel's connected jewellery stores. In fact, Fox was nowhere to be seen.

Once, twice, three times, Alex circled the lobby, peering at faces he'd already peered at, and trying to remember what exactly Fox had been wearing. If only he'd had a large red hat, or something.

He was almost about to give up and return to the waiter, when Fox stepped blandly out of a bathroom, wiping his damp hands on his trousers. "Fox," breathed Alex in relief.

Fox looked bemused. "What? Aren't you meant to be talking to Icy?"

Suddenly, a wave of anger washed through Alex. "Weren't you meant to be watching my back?" he snarled.

The MI6 agent raised his hands in surrender. "Woah," he laughed weakly, "what did I do to deserve this?"

Alex's shoulders slumped. "Icy isn't here."

"Are we going, then?"

"No," sulked Alex, "there's a letter for me, but the waiter won't give it to me until you come."

Fox rubbed his chin. "Why would Icy do that?" he wondered.

"Never mind that," Alex brushed him off, once again impatient. "You've got to _come._"

Alex led Fox back to the table, where the waiter stood by as K-Unit consumed several plates of small chocolate goodies – tarts, mini-cakes, cheesecake, fudge, brownies, pudding, truffles, ice-cream, hot chocolate, mousse, biscuits… Just the sight made Alex's mouth water.

Eagle looked up as Alex and Fox approached. With his wide eyes, and a smear of chocolate on one cheek, he looked the quintessential puppy that has eaten food it was not allowed to. "Alex!" he exclaimed, covering the cake he had been devouring, "You found Fox! We thought – uh…"

"Yes," snarked Alex, "I did."

If he had not been an adult, Eagle would surely have whimpered. His whole body hunched in on itself, and he gazed down sadly at his plate, evidence of his misdeeds. He covered the sorry sight with his napkin. "We saved you some food…"

Wolf coughed loudly. Alex stared at the plate of chocolate-covered fruit that was passed towards him. Then he looked up to the waiter.

The waiter smiled widely. "Eat. I buy for you."

Was this some kind of test? He looked at his comrades. They seemed oblivious to the dangers the fruit might represent. What if it was poisoned? Noticing his hesitation, the waiter's grin grew – impossible though it had seemed at first – ever wider. He repeated his request: "Eat, little man. I will not give Mr Du's message to you if you do not eat."

Wolf coughed at him, and nodded. It looked as if he had no choice in the matter. Looking at his teammates, he was somewhat reassured that none of them appeared to be getting drowsy, or melted, or blue. With tentative fingers, Alex picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry and bit the end off.

The strawberry was juicy, its sugary taste blending effortlessly with the bitter dark chocolate surrounding its flesh. It left a slightly sharp, acidic aftertaste as Alex swallowed. Poison? It tasted like no poison he could recall.

"More!" commanded the waiter. "Finish the plate!"

With Fox's help, Alex dutifully scoffed down the rest of the food. He didn't feel any different… yet. The others still seemed healthy enough. When he had cleared the platter and was feeling, if anything, bloated to the point of imminent vomitus, the waiter once again gave his trademark smirk. "There is no cheque for you to pay – you thank Mr Dù for this – but now you must come. I take you."

The waiter guided the group to the entrance of the Hotel, where the yellow Ferrari that they had so admired earlier waited, gleaming in the setting sunlight. Eagle's eyes widened comically, and he held a hand to his chest, pretending to swoon. "I think I'm in love!" he exclaimed.

Wolf, despite his seeming to be pleasantly surprised, hunched his shoulders and in a low tone, muttered, "Shh! People are staring."

However, it appeared the two men's dream was not about to be fulfilled any time in the near future. The waiter led them around the Ferrari, past the line of gleaming Aston Martins and polished Porsches, to a cornflower-blue taxi. Apologetically, the waiter explained that they would have to ride somewhat illegally, as, in total, there were six of them – unless one of them was to somehow disappear (an unpleasant grin worked its way across his lips), they'd be legally required to use a maxi taxi, and that would cost more. "Mr Dù, he takes much care of his wealth," the waiter explained, still smiling. "The driver will not mind extra person."

The waiter spoke the truth. As the six of them bundled into the car, the waiter riding shotgun, the taxi driver merely glanced in the rear-view mirror, blinked, mumbled something about Icy, accepted the crinkled paper money the waiter passed him and pointed pointedly at a musty blanket in the foot well. "For cops," he muttered, driving carefully out of the Hotel on the waiter's instructions*.

"Turn left here," instructed the waiter once they were out. "Right here. Right again. Keep going."

The instructions continued monotonously for about ten minutes, as far as Alex could tell. He quickly lost track of where they were headed, other than the vague suspicion that they were heading away from the river. It was difficult to know; the magnificent tall buildings gave the impression that the real ground level was somewhere high above, and that humans had carved winding roads deep into the surface of a metallic earth.

"At the next roundabout, take the second left," continued the waiter. "Stop at that building. The white one. With the beer bottles on the windowsill. Thank you."

Coolly, the waiter paid the taxi driver and led the five of them up to the front chicken-wire gate.

The house stood out against the Singaporean backdrop. It was a wooden construct raised on stilts as if it had wandered over to its location and decided, somewhat magnanimously, to settle there. Whitewashed timber planks housed a large, empty veranda shaded by a corrugated iron roof that, at present, was lovingly masked by the bright lilac of jacaranda flowers. Rust tinged the roof edges like a slow blush. From the gate, the waiter led them up a flight of raw wooden stairs. Their boots created a muffled drumroll heralding their entry into Icy's abode.

As the waiter rung a heavy cast-iron bell, Snake took the opportunity to admire the garden. It wasn't much; tufts of brown grass struggled to survive under the blazing sun, with lantana strangling the fence. Beside the house, leaning into the veranda and arching a branch good-naturedly over the roof, grew the flowering jacaranda Alex had noticed earlier. All this, Snake recited to Alex, who really couldn't have cared less.

While they waited for Icy, who seemed to be taking his time, Eagle sat down on an old rocking chair that faced away from the house. "Do you think Icy likes to mensen kijken?" he asked abruptly.

Fox frowned. "What?"

"'Cause, you know, my grandmother liked to. Do you think Icy's old?"

"What does …men-ser-kike… even mean?"

"Hmm?" Eagle looked confused. "Oh, right. 'People-watch'. I read it in a book. There was this guy and he was Dutch, right? And he was an investigator – like that Swedish detective guy played by that Lockhart man – and the elderly people in his village were really good at helping because they mensen kijken – people watch – all day."

As if to pre-empt Eagle's impending speech into the intricacies of the plot, a large object from inside crashed into the front door, rebounding with an almighty screech of pain. Out of the shadows came mutters that sounded decidedly human. The door opened, and out stepped Icy. "Sorry mates, I _was_ going to Kramer youse all, but bloody _crimsafe_ got in the way." He sighed noisily.

K-Unit goggled. Icy matched his name in a Hollywood way, with peroxide white hair that contrasted his weathered golden skin and, well, Icy blue eyes. His smile was as white as the Antarctic glaciers. He held out a brown, callused hand to Alex, who shook it with a dazed expression. The scent of aftershave sliced through the musty midday air.

"Alex, roight? Good of ya ta come."

Alex, to his confusion, heard several thumps behind him. He turned. Snake and Eagle lay on the veranda, their skin slightly grey. Fox was breathing heavily as he grasped the railing, perspiring in his effort to stay upright. Eventually, he too succumbed and collapsed, with a helpless glance towards Alex, to join the others. Glancing at his comrades, Wolf brought a hand to his forehead, pirouetted, and collapsed in a neat heap.

Alex spun back to Icy, who shrugged innocently.

"Must be the heat, eh? Moi good looks?" the man chuckled. "They'll be roight in a few." He winked.

Nausea flooded Alex's being and the air became thick. A hand held to his throat, stumbling backwards, he blinked the sweat out of his eyes and tried desperately to cling to consciousness – but it was so, so bright. The sunlight squeezed his brain. It was with some measure of relief that Alex allowed his eyes to snap shut and his legs to give way. Icy's wheezing chuckle was his lullaby into unconsciousness.

* * *

*This has NEVER happened as far as I know and this incidence is for the purposes of fanFICTION and does not reflect what may or may not be true in Singapore.


	16. Chappie 14 - Single Steps

**Single Steps**

Alex awoke in darkness, sucking in huge lungfuls of air as if to make up for the air he'd missed, and then wheezed out a cough.

"Dusty, isn't it?" came Snake's voice from somewhere to his right. "Don't move around too much; you'll stir up more dirt."

"I said I was sorry!" Eagle's petulant voice sounded further away, to Alex's left.

"While you continued to struggle and kick up more dust." Fox seemed particularly peeved.

"What happened?" Alex asked, peering into the musky gloom. His hands were tied, raised painfully above his head in a gesture of surrender.

"From what we can tell," Snake murmured, "we were fed a sedative of some kind. Either that or icy's presence was so abhorrent we all fell unconscious."

Fox grunted his agreement. "We shouldn't have acquiesced to the waiter so easily," he moaned, as if he'd been repeating the phrase for some time.

"I told you so," muttered a pissed-off Wolf from somewhere far away from the rest of them. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have had to pretend to swoon on the veranda back there."

"_What?_" spluttered Eagle. "How on _Earth _did you tell us so?"

"…I warned you."

"Yes," crooned Eagle, "but _how did you warn us?_"

"I'd like to know that, too," chimed in Snake. "As I remember, you were the first one to start eating. We just followed your lead."

"I never ate the food!" Wolf sounded indignant.

"Yes, you did," insisted Eagle.

"No, I pretended to eat."

There was a pause.

"Well, how were _we_ meant to know?" enquired an exasperated Eagle.

A longer pause. Alex could almost hear Wolf shifting uncomfortably in the dust.

"Didn't you hear me say so?" he said eventually.

"When?"

"When I coughed," muttered Wolf, and, demonstrating, he gave little cough that, if Alex _really _strained his ears, sounded something like 'donkey'.

"What was _that?_" Fox laughed, then wheezed into a hacking cough which didn't sound like anything.

Wolf growled under his breath. "I said, _don't eat!_"

A snort came from Alex's left. "I thought you were choking when you coughed before."

"I'm a soldier, Fox, not a spy," Wolf pointed out.

The darkness fell silent once more. Alex coughed again to dislodge the dust that had accumulated around his face.

"Well, what are we going to do now?" Alex had already started to piece together a picture of how and where he was tied up. His hands were tied above his head to a rusty metal bar attached to wooden slats behind his back. Turning his head as much as he could, he noticed chinks of light seeping through cracks between the timbers.

Perhaps if he… Alex slowly manoeuvred himself into a low crouch, his knees on the floor and his feet braced flat against the wooden slats. Gently, so as not to create a disturbance that would alert icy to his escape, he leant forwards, attempting to keep his hands in line with his head. The metal bar creaked ominously against the wood.

"What are you doing?" asked Eagle's nervous voice.

Ignoring the question, he leant forwards some more, the muscles in his arms straining to keep his shoulders from being dislocated. This would be easier, he thought petulantly, if he was a girl. Top-heavy, at least. Maybe if he had an afro. Or a particularly large, heavy nose.

"Cub?" prompted a voice he recognised as Snake's.

"I'm – just – trying – to—"

With a gasp, he crashed to the ground, inadvertently taking a mouthful of dust and momentarily stunning himself with a blow to the back of his head with the metal pipe. Groaning quietly, he levered himself into an upright position, lowering his arms thankfully, though they were still attached to the metal bar. Doing his best to cough out the dust he'd inhaled, Alex leant backwards against the wooden slats. The chink of light had widened substantially and he waited for his eyes to adjust.

"…Cub?" Snake pressed him again. "Are you hurt?"

A weak laugh escaped him. "I'm fine. I'll help you guys once I catch my breath."

Blinking, he slowly made out four shadowy figures sitting in what he realised was sawdust. The closest to him was Snake. Alex swung himself erect and shuffled over to him with a tired grin. He peered at the knots securing Snake's hands before deciding that he really couldn't be bothered trying to undo them in the gloom. Feeling carefully along the wooden slats, he stepped back and turned sideways, narrowing his eyes at the target. Alex bounced slightly on the balls of his feet to wake himself up.

Snake stared at him uncertainly. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Alex smiled innocently, before swinging his right leg into a powerful kick. The wood splintered beneath his heel, and Snake's hands came free with a surprised grunt.

Snake shook the wood splinters from his hair. "Next time, warn me," he muttered, standing.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Together, they freed the rest of the unit.

"Now what?" Eagle questioned when they were all standing, somewhat bemused, in the centre of the room. There was, by now, enough light to just see what kind of room they were in.

A fine coating of red dust, out of place in the grey cleanliness of Singapore, covered everything and everyone like icing sugar gone wrong. Snake had to stoop beneath the low, cobwebbed ceiling, which creaked above them as icy moved about the house. On the other side of the room, a peeling green door stared solidly at the men. A long, solemn, fraying rope hung from the ceiling in front of the door.

Eagle walked to the door and tried the knob.

Locked.

What was more, a baritone voice intoned drily, "_The door is locked."_

They jumped, though Wolf tried to supress his own surprise and instead gave off a spastic jerk. "Eagle! This is no time to be joking!" he snapped.

Eagle stepped back and held his arms out to the side. "It wasn't me," he trilled, "my voice doesn't go that low!"

Fox snorted and tried to cover it up with a loud cough. "The only one of us who has a deep enough voice is Wolf."

As one, they turned towards the soldier in question, who growled at their betrayal. "I think it was icy, actually."

"Yes," murmured Snake, walking over to peer at the corner of the room, "I think it was." He held up a small black object, wired to the wall. "He's using speakers."

The group relaxed. There was always a logical explanation. Wolf nodded smugly.

Eagle scratched the back of his neck. "What now?"

Alex looked about the room. "Well, what else have we got besides a door, a rope and speakers?"

Next to Wolf was a padlocked metal cupboard that he tried to open, but as with the door, it refused to move. He shrugged sheepishly. "I thought maybe the padlock would break."

Again the voice came, this time informing them, _"It will not budge. It is locked with a combination code._"

"No shit," snorted Fox. He seemed to be snorting a lot. Alex briefly contemplated remarking that his codename should be Pig, not Fox, but decided against it. He was pretty sure escaping from this place would require most of his limbs intact.

Further exploration revealed a table in the middle of the room, several thick planks lined up like soldiers against a wall and a blurry painting on the opposite side. Though it was lighter than before, the gloom was still too thick to make out what the painting depicted, and when they peered too closely, the voice chided them, _"Careful! You'll ruin your eyesight."_

They were sitting in the dust, wondering what on earth they could possibly do to escape, when Eagle smacked his forehead.

"Eagle! You'll lose brain cells."

"Won't make much of a difference," Ben snorted. Again.

Eagle's brow furrowed and he crossed his arms. "I'll have you know I have so many quality brain cells that the loss of a few is negligible, Fox, and I was going to tell you a solution to this problem we are at this moment confronted with, but as you don't sound as if you really want to hear it…"

Wolf cuffed Eagle on the head, eliciting a pained sigh from Snake. "Eagle, he was joking. Now tell us."

The bookworm soldier uncrossed his arms and rubbed his head. "Fine. I was thinking Cub could climb out of the house. We could kick a wider hole where he freed Snake."

As one, the group looked over to aforementioned hole, which was currently about the size of Alex's fist. "That's… a good idea," murmured Fox. "Well done, Eagle."

Eagle sniffed and tilted his head up to look down his nose at them. "I dare do all that may become a man."

"Eagle, you don't know what you're saying."

Meanwhile, Alex had walked over to the hole, and was testing the weakness of the planks. Unfortunately, on either side of the hole, less than half a metre across, thick concrete pillars held the house above them. Horizontal metal struts above the hole further restricted its size. "We should be able to do it," Alex interrupted the quarrelling quartet, "but we can't break concrete or steel. ('_You can only break wood and wind,_'the voice confirmed.) So it'll be quite a tight squeeze…"

"What's that?" snorted Ben once more. "Have you grown fat?"

Alex turned his head and glared. "Well, if I don't fit because I'm fat, you _definitely_ won't. Come on, Wolf, you're the strongest."

With Ben producing indignant squawks behind him, Wolf walked over, braced himself, and delivered a roundhouse kick to the planks on one side of the hole. Another kick to the other side widened the hole as much as possible. With Wolf standing back to watch, Alex carefully smoothed the sides of the hole as much as he could, breaking off chips of wood still attached.

Then, with bated breath, he put his head through the hole. But he could go no further. His shoulders were too wide to fit through the hole, even if he turned himself 90 degrees. With his head sticking out one end, and his bottom the other end, he decided to retract his head and face the others in a less foolish position.

"Well," he began, with thinly veiled sarcasm. "Why don't _you_ try, Fox?"

Shuffling issued from the named man's general direction. Then, sheepishly, a cough. "I think I'll, er, pass, for now. Anyway, I think the voice is a clue to something. I think this room has been designed as a, er, well, an escape-the-room room."

As if on cue, a loud fanfare trumpeted from the speakers. "_Escaaape… the room!_" the voice exclaimed enthusiastically. "_But be careful, you only live once!_ _Ha, ha, ha._"

"I think you're right," Eagle muttered, biting his lip.

"Yes," Fox replied, redundantly. "Er, well, so, let's – let's _inventory_ the room, shall we?"

Wolf snorted. "We already did that. Locked metal cupboard, table, painting, planks. No light."

"There's also a rope from the ceiling, and lots of sawdust," Snake interjected helpfully. "Perhaps there's a message on the floor, hidden by the sawdust." He began scooping handfuls of the stuff onto the table as the others watched, thinking to themselves that they should probably help, but unable to muster the motivation to do so.

Alex watched something white flutter from the table onto the floor. "What's that?"

"What's what?"

"That." He pointed, but the thing, whatever it had been, was covered by Snake's sawdusting. "Never mind."

Snake paused, puffing slightly.

"Listen, er, Snake," Fox spoke soothingly, pausing to cough every few words, "there's a lot of sawdust, and, well, I'm not entirely sure that there would be a message on the floor. And anyway, it's too dark to read. I think, what we should do _first_, is look for a light."

Wolf raised an eyebrow. "What light?"

Silence fell upon his question like a pack of wolves too hungry to growl. Alex cast his gaze around the room. It was pointless, because it was too dark for him to see anything much, but it made him feel a little more at ease. Sort of like when a person hem-hems loudly into an empty room, to reassure themselves that they still have a voice.

"I wonder what this does," Fox announced at last, and pulled the fraying rope from the ceiling before any of them could speak. For several seconds they goggled at each other, their eyes sluggishly adjusting to the light that had filled the room. "Well, now, that wasn't so hard!" Fox grinned.

"We could have died! None of us knew what that would do. You should have warned us!" Wolf barked his voice back, defusing Fox's smile. "We – you – never have I seen such blissful disregard for self-preservation – or, indeed, unit preservation!"

"He – icy – wouldn't have killed us," Fox tried to explain.

"_You_ could have killed us!"

"No, you know what I mean. We're not _allowed_ to die whilst we're in here."

"Allowed? Allowed? Fox, wake up! We're always allowed to die! In fact, it's usually encouraged!"

"You're being unrealistic, Wolf."

"_I'm_ being unrealistic?" Wolf slammed the table. Sawdust _whoofed _into the air. "You're not taking our _lives_ seriously."

Fox twitched. "I am! I'm just saying, this is a crazy situation. It's also one that's fully controlled. It's highly unlikely that icy would let us die!"

"Life and death isn't something that can be controlled! icy _wants us to die_."

"Wolf – calm down! We have to think logically to figure out how to play icy's game!"

"This isn't a game, Fox!"

"_This _is _a game,_" the voice contradicted him.

"No, it's not!" Wolf roared, then caught himself. "I will _not_ argue with a voice!"

"We're all voices," Snake butted in, somewhat philosophically. "Fox, I realise you're somewhat of an expert at escape games, but we'd really appreciate some discussion before you rush on ahead, if only to prevent giving us all aneurisms. Wolf, unless we fluff around inhaling all the sawdust, I don't think we'll die. Cautiousness is important, but it isn't something to get so worked up about. We need to work together to figure a way out of this and shouting at each other isn't going to help anyone, least of all us. Is that understood?"

"Yes, mum," Wolf scowled sarcastically. A Look from Snake made him fold his arms, though his expression turned more contrite.

Eagle cleared his throat. "Okay, ladies, now that's sorted out… I say we take a closer look at that painting."

Wordlessly they trooped over to the painting and gathered in a semicircle around it. Fox lifted it off the hook after receiving Wolf's slightly embarrassed nod of assent. "Now, I don't think anything about the painting itself is important, since the voice told us something about bad eyesight. However…" He flipped the painting over and began removing the backing. "Something's always in here."

Sure enough, when he pried the painting away from the frame, they found a small saw sticky-taped carefully to the back. "To cut off your legs if we get hungry," Eagle smirked, plucking it from Fox.

"_You found a saw!_" said the voice admiringly. "_Be careful… it's _sharp._ Not like you. Ha, ha, ha._"

They looked at each other.

"Well, now that we have a saw, can we saw those planks?" Eagle questioned no one in particular. When his only response was Snake's indifferent shrug, he bounded towards the planks and began sawing gleefully.

Snake's gaze drifted to follow him. "Eagle, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to saw things when they're just on the ground."

His admonishment was blithely ignored, even when the voice repeated meaningfully, "_You're not supposed to saw things when they're just on the ground._"

For several minutes, the room was filled with Eagle's eager sawing, which sounded – Fox remarked, with a dry chuckle – a little like a really, really exhausted donkey. Eagle was just finishing his third plank when he let out a piercing yelp. Sucking in a huge lungful of dusty air, he shrieked, "A rat, a rat!" – before hurling his saw at the black _thing _which had appeared, hurling himself backwards into the sawdust and coughing uncontrollably.

"I can't believe you just killed a rat with a small saw!" Snake gaped, rushing over to the black thing, which, indeed, was not moving.

"I can't believe there was a rat inside a plank of wood," Fox remarked, sounding childishly delighted as he examined the wood.

"I can't believe no one's made a pun about an eagle being scared of rodents," Alex offered. He strolled to Eagle and whacked him firmly on the back to dislodge the sawdust in his lungs, dragged him to his feet and brushed him down.

"That joke's old," Wolf replied absently, peering over Snake's shoulder. "It's not a rat, Eagle."

Eagle cleared his throat. "It's not?" he got out before dissolving into coughs again.

"No," confirmed Wolf. "It's a box."

"It's not a box," Fox argued. "It's just a block. And – it's got four coloured stripes, like some sort of barcode. Blue, red, purple, yellow. Well done, Eagle."

"_You went about it all wrong_," the voice sulked. "_You're not supposed to saw things when they're just on the ground. And anyway, the stripes are blue, red, _violet,_ yellow._"

Alex hauled Eagle over to the others. "Looks indigo to me," he commented, smirking.

"_It's not indigo, it's violet_," the voice insisted.

Snake's eyes flicked to Alex, then back to the box. "I don't know, looks pretty indigo to me."

"Yeah," Wolf agreed vaguely.

The voice let out a burst of white noise that could have approximated a sigh. "_It's _violet_. Honestly._"

"It's a bit dark to be violet, really," Eagle coughed wetly. "And too bluish."

"_It's violet_! Violet!"

"What does it matter?" Fox asked, his gaze resting steadily on the camera.

The voice made no reply, except to hiss, somewhat malevolently, "_Vi-o-let…_"

"Listen," Fox whispered to the group. "It's _got_ to be some sort of code, that's why he's so upset about it."

"You don't say," Eagle drawled.

"I'd say," Fox continued, "it's got something to do with the rainbow. Usually they don't specify indigo or violet for any other reason."

Wolf nodded slowly. "Then it's easy. It's probably just a simple substitution. Red is one, and so on."

"Five one seven two," Alex interrupted. "Sounds good, but we don't know what it's for. Erm, also, we didn't see this when we didn't have the light, but, er, there's a wooden _thing_ over there in the corner." He pointed.

It was indeed wooden, consisting of three wooden planks connected at right angles, converging into a single point. One of the planks was longer than the others, giving the impression of a builder who'd lost his measuring tape halfway through the process and hadn't thought to measure the third plank against the previous two.

Leaving the coloured block on the sawdust-covered table, they plodded over to examine the structure. For once, Fox looked befuddled. "Look, I have no idea what this is or what it's for."

"_I'm not telling you what it is now,_" the voice taunted them, still petulant. "_All I'm saying is that it's broken._"

They looked at each other. "I don't know," Snake grinned, "looks alright to me."

"_It _is_ broken!_" the voice shouted.

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes!_"

"It's held together okay. I don't see any missing pieces. Really, I don't think it's broken."

"_Well, it is!_"

"Hmm, well, if by 'broken' you actually mean 'good-as-new'…"

"_It's broken! Broken! Bro-ken!"_

"As far as I can see, nothing's wrong with it."

"_Argh!_"

And with that, the door burst open, sending the sawdust into a small whirlwind. icy stood in the doorway, breathing heavily. "No!" he howled. "Don't say nothin's wrong!"

Alex and K-Unit froze, amused and pleased.

* * *

**AN: Ever played an escape-the-room game before? Yeah... I'm terrible at them. Anyway, if any of you know Franz Kafka, there's a kafka-esque game called 'K****afkamesto'. I had to use a walkthrough :P But there's another game called 'Tork', which is easier... And why am I recommending games to you?**


	17. Chappie 15 - Sing with One Voice

**Sing With One Voice (I am, you are, we are...)**

In a hurricane of admonishment, icy re-closed and locked the door with a key he promptly swallowed, and swept about the room. "This!" he pointed to 'broken' contraption, "is a sawhorse and youse were meant to examine it to foind _this._" From under the crossbar, he pulled a piece of paper, which he brandished. "_This_ is the code to decode _this._ C'mon, mates, really?"

Alex gave a small "Hah!" of smugness when icy sifted through the sawdust to show them the paper, the white thing Alex had seen.

Snake read the paper, decoded by icy. "Peep at the maiden to find the answer. Well, that's not very chivalrous, is it?"

"We already did that, though," pointed out Fox. "We found the saw."

icy scowled. "Yes, but youse didn't foind _this, _neow, did ya?" He pointed at a spot on the maiden's dress.

Alex peered closely. The spot looked strangely contrived, like it wasn't just a random spot. He peered even closer. "It's… it's a number. Four."

"_Yes!_" huffed icy, "now keep lookin'."

"That's not fair," Fox pouted. "The voice told us we'd ruin our eyesight."

icy regarded him coolly. "That's what the loight was for."

Alex coughed loudly to interrupt the staring contest between the two gamers. There were numbers all over the painting, like a paint-by-numbers activity. "Four, one, three, two. What's that meant to mean?"

Fox smacked his forehead. "Of course! The barcode colours: three is indigo –" (_"Violet!" _yowled icy_._) "– one is blue, four is yellow, two is red, and…" he wandered around the room. "Where do we use it…?"

"_Here,_" pointed icy, slouching. "Oi _told _youse it was a combination lock, and everything."

All eyes turned to the metal cupboard Wolf had tried to open earlier. Fox marched over to it, muttering the order of the colours. "Blue, red, indigo, yellow. Blue, red, indigo, yellow. That makes it… one, two, three, four."

There was an awkward pause.

"Really? You couldn't be bothered coming up with a _creative_ code?" Eagle was scathing.

icy hunched his shoulders. "Oi didn't know heow to change the code. And anyways, the _real _creativity is insoide."

The cupboard was empty, but painted on the back was a riddle:

_You are blind from me, numb to me, deaf to me.  
Your nose cannot sense me.  
I am beyond the sky and below the ground.  
I am at the end of life and the start of life.  
What am I?_

"Right," said Wolf. He turned to Eagle. "You're the literary one – work out the riddle."

Eagle raised his eyebrows sardonically. "Literary. That's a long word for you to use, Wolfy. How about we _all _work out the riddle? Just because I read doesn't mean I'm an expert in written things."

Ever the doctor, Snake was drawn to the physical senses. "Well, if you can't see, feel, hear or smell it, you must be able to taste it."

"That's no help," Fox pointed out, "There's a lot you can taste in the world."

"Yes, but what if its taste is part of its distinguishing features—"

"It isn't," butted in icy, who was really not very good at giving riddles, Alex thought. Not mysterious enough by far.

Wolf went for the cliché answer. "Nothingness?"

"No," mused Alex, who could remember his Physics lessons all too clearly – he would never look at a string the same way ever again – "The riddle says 'at the end of life' and there's always something at the end; stones, dead cells, anything. You can't destroy matter, except with antimatter..."

Fox curled his lip. "Besides, the riddle also says 'below the ground' and there is _definitely _stuff underground. The underground, for example."

"Well, that depends," hummed Snake, "on how you define 'below the ground'. It could mean off the face of the Earth – assuming the Earth is flat and, if this is a particularly old riddle, might have been thought so – and that would fit 'beyond the sky', since space – we didn't even know it existed – so it was nothing."

Alex smiled triumphantly at Fox. "My reasoning for why Wolf's answer was wrong was better than yours," he taunted mildly.

"Yes, yes, let's get on with the riddle."

Eagle groaned theatrically and clasped his hands to icy in silent imploration. "I give up, give us a clue, why don't you?"

icy frowned.

"Please?"

"Why all this if Oi was going to tell youse the answer?"

"He's right, you know," Snake muttered.

"Oi know Oi'm roight," icy smiled smugly. "For the first toime in moi loife."

"Ngh," replied Eagle, and, exasperated, collapsed onto the ground and lay back, spreading his arms as though to create a dust-angel.

icy looked at him in concern. "Don't give up, mate, there is loight at the end of the tunnel. The tunnel of thought, that is…" he trailed off.

"Death?" offered Snake.

"Close, but no cigah. Oi praise the first letter that comes, but there must be three more than given." icy seemed to have gone mad with impatience. At least he was being more mysterious now.

"I'm waiting for a lightbulb moment, but it isn't coming," drawled Fox.

Wolf snorted. "Of course it isn't. It's too darking dark in here to light it up."

There was a sound, like wind rushing through a very small tunnel. Five heads turned to look at icy, who clutched a hand to his heart and leaned towards Wolf pointedly.

"Light it up?" queried Snake.

One shake for no.

"Lightbulb?"

"In here?"

"Darkness?"

The answers were given in quick succession from Fox, Alex and Eagle, in turn. Two shakes were given, before a wonderful, miraculous nod. Eagle raised his fist. "Yes! I got it!"

Wolf smiled in satisfaction. "Told you you'd get it."

The bookworm spluttered. "Yes, but – but – not because I read books!"

"Sure, sure."

Alex, however, had his mind on other things. The original puzzle, namely. "So what do we do with darkness?"

As if on cue, icy held his hand, palm facing outwards, to his eyes. "Crikey, mates, the loight! It burns!"

"What are you, a vampire?" grimaced Fox.

Wolf, always a good soldier, followed the unspoken command and pulled the string, which turned the light off.

For a moment, the men – and one boy – blinked as their eyes adjusted to the light, or lack thereof. Then, very faintly, came a glowing from inside the cabinet. They crowded around, Alex being the first to get there. "It's an X," he said. "What do we do with _that_?"

"Press it, press it…" muttered icy, leering towards his creation.

Upon the press, the back of the cupboard seemed to melt, leaving behind another back, with a hook on it. And on that hook was a key.

And with that key, they unlocked the green door.

xxx

"Now, don't think about escaping from 'ere," icy lectured them. "Oi've locked _all_ the other doors, and _all_ the windows. Youse can't escape this toime!"

Alex shared a bemused glance with Fox.

icy led them to a small room upstairs and seated the five of them around a coffee table. Fussing happily, he placed a mug of tea in each of their hands. The soldiers couldn't help but notice a seventh man in the room, a man chained to a chair facing the corner, who was also sipping a mug of tea.

"Who's that?" Wolf whispered hoarsely to Snake, indicating with his head.

Snake favoured him with a withering glare and pointedly said nothing. Wolf retreated into his mug of tea with a slight hunching of his shoulders. He cleared his throat. "Look— icy, is it?" he began soothingly, placing his mug on the coffee table.

icy raised an eyebrow. "Now, you've changed," he remarked, "and jumbled the pieces. You've changed. You're better before you talked."

Insulted, Wolf stopped. Snake patted his shoulder consolingly. "That wasn't a very nice thing to say," he frowned.

"Love children of the new age," icy sneered, clasping his hands to his heart. "Here come the handmaidens of end toime."

"What is he saying?" questioned Fox in a low voice. Alex shrugged.

icy finished his tea with a loud 'ahhhh' and clunked his mug onto the table. "Oi'm still here."

"What do you want?" Eagle asked petulantly.

"Oi'm still here, mates," repeated icy. "Oi've come ta rain on your parade."

"Why do you want to rain on our parade?" Wolf was abrupt.

icy ignored him. "You can tell a man from what he has ta say."

"_What_ do you _want_?" Eagle said again. "Did you organise the thing with his—" he pointed to Wolf, "girlfriend? In the yum cha restaurant?"

("Ex-girlfriend," muttered Wolf.)

"Yes, but let it go," whined icy. "Things ain't cooking in moi kitchen."

The man in the corner spoke up in a clear British accent. "He's completely bonkers, you know."

They turned to face him. icy sighed noisily. "Hey, don't look now," he pouted. "Ya lousy bar stool." He scooped up their mugs, plodding to the kitchen.

"Just minding my own business, wasn't I? Back from – well, you don't need to know about that. But there I was," the man nodded disconsolately, "and he arrested me. _Arrested_ me. Arrested _me_."

"For what?" Alex prompted him.

"Well, you have to understand," pleaded the man. "I had done nothing wrong, you see. Nothing. And he arrested me – _arrested _me – for indecent exposure! I mean, can you imagine?"

Wolf snorted. "I don't think I want to, honestly."

"No!" the man rustled his chains adamantly. "The thing is, the thing _was_, I'd been perfectly dressed. I was wearing my dressing gown and slippers. _I'm_ no plebeian; I'm Arthur Ent," he concluded haughtily.

icy returned, scowling, and handed each of them an orange-brown, sugary oat-biscuit. "Beautiful lie," he refuted. "Terrible truth."

The man only rolled his eyes and slouched into his chains. "See? He's mad."

"If ya know me," icy snapped, "why don't youse tell me what Oi'm thinking?"

Snake gestured for icy to sit. "You… have a nice house," he said lamely.

"Yes." icy seemed suitably distracted. "It's a way of bringing sheltah from the rain," he continued modestly.

Encouraged by his success, Snake went on. "The road, outside, is nice. Er. I think there's a river nearby. Is there a bridge too?"

"See it stretch on forever!" icy waved a tanned hand towards the window, through which they could, indeed, see a long road. "Loife's too short for burning bridges. They abound." He raised his eyebrows significantly.

Fox decided to join in the fun in trying to learn where exactly they were. "I really enjoy getting out of the city, away from all the banks and fast food restaurants. It's good here."

"Still mad at Uncle Sam?" icy responded sympathetically. "Oi hear this town, it never goes to sleep," he acknowledged. "So and by the way, ah, Oi lost my address."

"You don't know where we are?"

"Nope, ain't worried about tamorrah. I've made up my mind."

Eagle narrowed his eyes. "How did you get here if you don't know where here is?"

"Working hard," nodded icy knowingly, "ta make a living. It's a long way to the top."

"I told you he's mad," the man in the corner muttered.

icy scolded him fondly. "Oi'd make wine from your tears, mate."

"Er, so is there a reason we're here, or can we go?" Eagle interrupted.

The man in the corner looked heavenwards and shook his chains meaningfully.

A high-pitched laugh escaped icy. "We all have wings," he proclaimed, "but some of us don't know why."

"What? Would you slow down?" complained Wolf. "Understanding him is worse than Shakespeare."

icy was triumphant. "No stop signs, speed limit. Nobody's gonna slow me down." Noticing that they'd finished their biscuits, he blinked and sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Enough," he announced. "Ready or not, here comes the drop, mates."

"Drop?" Alex asked quietly. His comrades shrugged.

"You!" icy pointed a hairy finger towards the blond spy, voice suddenly loud. "Don't be so reckless!"

Alex was flabbergasted. "Okay?" he tried.

Unamused, icy continued his storming rant. "The inbred smoile," he snarled incoherently, then turned to the others accusingly. "He played the woild scene, ya know. They built him up."

The soldiers could only stare at him, speechless.

"Oi've seen your peers poutin' over beers," icy whispered to Alex. "Oi know what you've done."

"What have I done?"

"You don't know the reason why?"

"…No."

icy's mouth dropped open and his blue eyes opened comically wide. "You've taken my people!" he shouted. "_My_ people! My _people_! Oi can't afford it," he cried, "Oi can't get no satisfaction!"

"Sorry," Alex offered.

"No!" howled icy. "Oi wander the streets never reaching the hoights that Oi seek. There are cars shooting by with no number plates. Things just, ah, don't seem, ah, to… be goin' roight."

"What did I do?"

"What _didn't_ you do," icy corrected him. "Stole from my rich, gave to my poor. Walked through my hall and out through my door. Broken dreams that never really started."

Fox tapped his nose. "I think he might be saying that you took something of his."

Beaming, icy patted Fox's head and gave him what sounded like a poor attempt at a compliment. "The excess of fat on your American bones will cushion the impact as you sink loike a stone."

"…Thank you. I'm not American. And… Well, never mind."

The man in the corner barked a laugh. "You two are pathetic."

"Oi don't _feeeel_ pathetic," icy countered.

Wolf coughed loudly. "What did he take?"

Sticking out his bottom lip, icy waved his callused fingers in Wolf's direction like an unpractised magician. "You can foight the sleep, but not the dream," he promised ominously. "Anyway," he said, turning back to Alex, "she don't loike that kind of behaviour."

"She?" Snake broke in.

icy nodded. "Oi think that Oi'm beginning to know her. So, throw down your guns."

Tilting his head, Alex faced Fox. "Do you think he's talking about me and …" he glanced at the man in the corner – "the Bank? Maybe he used to be an agent, and I took his place?"

There was a chorus of 'ah' from the assembled soldiers. The man in the corner muttered something about them being just as mad as his arrestor.

"Man in a cage has made his confession now," icy reported smugly. Eagle rolled his eyes.

Alex swallowed. "So, you want me to stop with the Bank? Is that it?"

"_That_ koind of behaviour," nodded icy. "Be-_yoo_-tiful, people."

"If I promise to never go back to the Bank, will you let all of us go?"

icy twitched. "Some things aren't meant to be. Some things don't come for free."

"I think he wants more than you just quitting the Bank," Fox muttered.

Again, icy beamed at Fox, white teeth gleaming in his broad smile. "A fact's a fact. You feel lucky when you know where you are." He whipped his head back around to stare at Alex. "Nothing's as precious as a hole in the ground."

Wolf choked. "Is he threatening to kill you?"

"Well, that would make sense," replied Alex dryly, "considering all the attempts on my life in the past few weeks." There was no way he was going to get back in time for the football now. The coach had probably given up on him ages ago.

Clearing his throat, Fox planted a hand on icy's broad shoulder. "icy, you feel that Alex took over your job, is that right?"

icy nodded warily.

"To be honest, I think you've been lied to," Fox continued. He ignored the awkward silence that filled the room, broken only by the man in the corner mumbling something about Thursdays. "I want to tell you the truth, okay? You deserve to know," he added.

icy shook Fox's hand off his shoulder. "Don't tell me," he begged. "Oi don't wanna hear about it."

"I think you should, icy," Fox persisted, his voice still soft and low and comforting. "I think it'll be good for you."

"And if we think about it – and if we talk about it – and if the skies go dark with rain? Maaaaate."

Alex could see why MI6 had hired him. Fox's mask of concern mixed with determination and 'honesty' was flawless. Fox gripped icy's shoulder again. "We'll get through it together, I promise you."

Eagle sniggered, happily ignoring Fox's exasperated expression. "Together, eh? Where's your bedroom, icy?"

icy was unfazed, apparently still enthralled by Fox's superb acting. He glared poisonously towards Eagle, his eyes piercing blue. "Are you trying to tempt me?" he sneered, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Because Oi come from the land of _plenty_."

Eagle shut up.

Fox continued. "Look at him," he coaxed icy, gesturing towards Alex. "How old do you think he is?"

"Oi was only nineteen, when Oi decided this is what Oi want to be," shrugged icy.

"Suddenly I see," exclaimed Snake.

icy gave him a dirty look.

Fox sent Snake a Look. "Don't mention it; wrong country," he muttered.

"_What_?" said Snake, irritated.

The agent rolled his eyes. "Never mind."

In the meantime, icy had moved on. "Oi hear the sounds of the stranger's voices."

"Alex was considerably younger than nineteen," Fox said earnestly, "and whoever 'she' is, how do you know she was telling the truth about him?"

icy gave Alex a considering look. "You walk alone loike a primitive man..."

"Yes!" Apparently, Fox thought he had made some headway. "Alex hasn't taken anything from you. How could he? He's so young and so… so vulnerable…"

Alex widened his eyes and tried to make his body look smaller and more delicate to icy.

"Stripping back the coats of lies and deception…" icy nodded, seemingly coming around to Fox's persuasion. "Bloody oath."

Fox nodded, pityingly. "So whoever told you about Alex is a liar," he proclaimed dramatically.

icy's icy eyes watered. "Wherever there is comfort, there is pain." His lip quivered. "Streuth. The finger of blame has turned upon itself."

"Now, now, don't castigate yourself," soothed Fox.

Even though Snake clearly couldn't understand what was going on, the medic's eyes seemed to be watering. There was no onion, nor capsicum, so unless he had acute hayfever, it was due to the sheer poignancy of the scene.

"But, mates, my soul was sold with my cigarettes to the black market woman…" icy seemed to be coming to a revelation, and was now muttering to himself. "They're gonna forget you, are you gonna let them take you over this way...?"

K-Unit looked at each other, and at Alex. Was icy talking about them? What was he going to do?

icy sighed. "The toime has come, a fact's a fact, we're gonna give it back." He looked at them steadily and stood up, pushing Fox away. He swallowed. "My choice is hers, Oi must do what Oi promised her."

The soldiers and Alex stiffened. Whatever icy was saying in his odd way, it didn't sound good.

Wolf, in a fit of drama, possibly brought on by icy's strange nature, stood also, and placed himself between Alex and icy. "These men are under my protection. They're my team, and I will not let you harm them."

There was a spluttering cough. Everyone turned to Eagle. "Really, Wolf? 'Harm them'?"

K-Unit's brave leader flushed through his dark skin, but stood his ground.

icy looked at him through his fringe of sun-bleached hair and blinked lazily. "Alroight," he said, and fell back into a stance most commonly used at the start of a race, at 'Set'. "Nah worries. We can settle this the old-fashioned way."

Wolf stared.

"Raaaahh!" icy yelled. He leapt onto the table and launched himself at the soldier.

Moving quickly, Wolf dodged out of the way and inadvertently tripped over the coffee table. He recovered with a roll as the rest of K-Unit hurriedly stood and cleared the space of their chairs, stacking them neatly, before lifting the heavy table and moving it into the corner.

Meanwhile, icy ignored them and once again hurled himself at Wolf in a flurry of kicking, scratching and biting, accompanied by his battle cry, "Raaaahh!"

Wolf blocked his advances with ease, although icy's oddly animalistic attacks did manage to land a few marks.

His flailing attack consisted of moving his limbs at a high velocity around and towards his victim. His hands were shaped into claws, his teeth were bared, nostrils flared and his eyes were wide and crazed. All the while icy emitted his strangled war cry with a mixture of phlegm and spittle. It was as though Wolf was being attacked larger-than-usual housecat.

The portion of K-Unit not currently suffering housecat-attack looked on with interest. icy's fighting style was too wild for them to intervene and be any use. They would only get in Wolf's way.

"Mad," the man in the corner contributed sadly.

Eventually the shock of icy's vehement attacks wore off and Wolf began to retaliate. He jabbed short strikes into icy's ribs, his stomach, his solar plexus. icy fumed. His attacks grew more frantic, more unpredictable. Wolf snarled like his namesake as icy snapped his teeth at his face, neatly missing his nose.

The fight moved into the corner of the room where K-Unit had helpfully moved the table. Wolf shoved icy away and stepped onto the table before icy could resume his attacks.

From there, he used his feet and legs to keep icy at a distance and land a few blows. icy, screeching from below, clawed at Wolf's legs ineffectually. But he was seemingly impervious to the numerous blows landed on his head.

When Wolf kicked out and missed, causing him to lose his balance for a second, icy made his way onto the table and backed Wolf into the corner. Wolf, by now, was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He growled in frustration and began punching icy in earnest, apparently to no avail.

Nonetheless, icy's weathered skin was beginning to show evidence for the beating he was receiving. Yellow bruises bloomed under his skin as though he was a chameleon changing colour, although he showed no sign of relenting in his relentless housecattack.

Wolf paused his punching (since it was clearly Not Working) and in his annoyance, attempted to shove icy away from him as he had before. But icy was Prepared, and slid out of the way. Wolf, tiring and irritated and not really focussing as icy's attack was so ridiculously terrible, let down his guard. icy sprang.

He clutched at Wolf's throat and bit down hard. Wolf gave a strangled scream. It wasn't every day that someone tried to pull a Dracula. However, unlike Dracula, icy did not have fangs, and so his attack, while painful and obviously going to leave a rather interesting bruise, did not cause any significant damage.

icy stared at Wolf from the sides of his pale blue eyes as he chomped on the soldier's neck and hugged him fiercely to paralyse him.

Reflexively, Wolf reacted to icy's hugging and biting with a knee to the groin.

To the surprise of all those present, icy collapsed, suctioning off Wolf's neck with an odd 'scrwlerp'. Wolf shuddered.

From the floor (which was actually the top of the table), icy lay on his back, panting. "Orright, mate?" he puffed.

Wolf gaped.

icy continued. "Oi've failed, haven't Oi? Oi should die."

"Die?"

"Oi've failed my loife's purpose, mate. Oi've gotta die." icy flopped a hand miserably.

Wolf used his shirt to clean the saliva from his neck. He wasn't going to be charged with murder or manslaughter, oh no. "I'll forgive you, icy," he offered reluctantly, "if you promise to never to attack us or Alex again. Ever."

Grinning, icy shot to his feet. "Anything for youse!" he cried, and flailed happily, catching Wolf on the side of the head and sending him tumbling off the table where he crashed into the stack of chairs and pulled them over onto himself in a failed attempt to regain his balance.

"Ow," the soldier groaned, but he nodded his acceptance of icy's … acceptance.

Alex's eyebrows raised. Wolf wasn't the type to complain of pain. For heaven's sake, he'd even forgiven Alex for driving him into the fence during the chase back in England.

Snake seemed to have come to the same conclusion, and rushed over. "Wolf, are you okay?" he clucked. As Alex watched in non-comprehension, the medic did his medic duties, and eventually proclaimed that Wolf most likely had a fractured clavicle. "We're going to have to take him to the hospital, Alex, back in England," the man said apologetically. "And I doubt we'll see you after that."

Alex shrugged. This thing was probably going to be soon over, anyhow, now that icy was out of the equation. All that was left was icy's mysterious instigator, the 'she' he'd kept referring to.

icy, who they'd mostly forgotten about in the kerfuffle, jumped in with apologies worthy of a soap opera, and insisted he pay for the best medical care for Wolf. "Such a pity," he whimpered, "such a pity if this fiercely brave compatriot of youse were reduced to civilian life forevermore!" To Alex, he said, "Your allies have defeated me, and thus Oi must become your ally, and my allies yours. Oi have a friend in Belfast –" he scribbled an address on a scrap of paper and handed it to Alex – "tell him Neris Veran sent you."

And so K-Unit left with icy, presumably to take him back to justice in England, and Alex freed the dressing-gown-clad man with a meatcleaver to the handcuffs. The man scurried off, muttering about cars, some kind of Ford, leaving Alex, once more, on his lonesome.

* * *

**AN: So... pretty crazy chapter. I wanted some exposition without making it too much of an information dump, so I chucked in a few references... and I might have gone a little too far :P**


	18. Chappie 16 - Bell Ends

**Bell-Ends and Brownies**

Sometime between the chocolate lunch and now, it had turned to dusk; a fact Alex's stomach made sure to remind him of, with a sulky grumble.

After wandering the streets outside icy's house, Alex managed to wrangle himself to Lau Pa Sat, a hawker centre arrange in a circle with the stalls on the periphery and in the middle, and the chairs and tables in between. Dinner was rojak, with wintermelon juice to drink.

As Alex left the centre, a disturbance caught his attention. He glanced towards it, and was stunned when a hand from behind him punched his head, sending him teetering around the cooking fires of street-food stalls.

No doubt icy or the mysterious 'she' had paid of some thugs to beat some sense into him. Between the glittering lights of the business district buildings, and the orange flicker of the fires, he tried to spot where his attacker was. There were too many people.

Alex dodged several more blows as he escaped the crowd, still being chased, and caught a taxi to the airport.

xxx

Alex was in a bit of a daze. Up until now, his little jaunt had seemed like a bit of a holiday, an adventure – albeit with snipers in the beginning and a fire in Brazil – but now he was coming to the crux of his quest. He felt sure that this 'she' whom icy had spoken of was the ringleader of the hunt to eliminate him. fishhead and icy were pawns. 'She', whoever 'she' was, was the queen.

His mind wandering in distraction, Alex settled down in what he deemed to be the centre of Changi airport, to the side of an Angry Birds thing for children. With vague interest, he noticed that the stairs to the thing lit up when the children ran up them. Some children noticed the lights, while others didn't even spare them a glance. To his amusement, the adults accompanying their children were even less likely to notice, even if their own children tried to show them.

In an hour, Alex managed to wrangle a ticket for the soonest plane ride to Ireland, board the plane, and survive the take-off.

xxx

From the Belfast airport, Alex caught a taxi to the city centre, where he navigated his way to a butcher shop. Specifically, _The Butcher of Belfast_. It sounded inviting.

A bell hanging off the door tinkled as Alex entered. From behind the plastic semi-opaque strips that divided the front of house from the back emerged a grey-eyed, thirty-something year old. "Can I help you?" the man asked softly, smiling slightly.

Alex told him that 'Neris Veran' had sent him.

The man's eyes widened imperceptibly and the corner of his mouth quirked up further. "I see. Well, you've found the right man – I'm Dick Poven – but I'm afraid I'm going on holiday soon, and so I can't help you. Unless it's quick?"

So much for finding help. "Right, no," said Alex, and he turned to exit the shop.

"That's _directly_ help you," called the man, Dick. "I never said I couldn't help you indirectly. Do you have a place to stay, yet?"

"No."

"Well, then. How about you stay at my place? I benefit by not having to hire someone to maintain my house; you benefit by free board."

Alex frowned. This was really strange. Who was Neris Veran to this man for him to offer his house (temporary though it was)?

Dick noticed Alex's hesitation. "Do you have anywhere better to go?"

The blond admitted he didn't.

"Consider it conciliation for my not being able to help you. Or, if you like, I'm obligated by politeness to offer you a place to stay." He waved a hand dismissively. "My mother was very strong on courtesy."

A trap, or a serendipitous find? Experience told Alex to never trust offers from strangers, but then he'd never experienced anything like this before. He might as well check out the house. He could keep a distance and run at the first sign of danger. "Sure," he said, "just let me see the house before I commit, okay?"

xxx

Dick's house was a typical small stone cottage, with a wrought iron gate. The black metal bars twisted like vines, spelling out the name of the house: Omaksin. Despite its forbidding exterior, the inside of the house was warmly furnished, with golden-hued furniture, a fireplace, and modest but well-stocked kitchen.

It was the small things that changed this house from a mere building to the Weasley Burrow: a framed polaroid of Dick with two others, '_Eleanor, Dick and Kersh at Avakas' _scrawled across the bottom; a letter on cream writing paper with navy ink – the letter was folded up, so that all Alex could read was a name, ' –han Thorn' – and a calendar that depicted eclipses at various times of the year. It looked as though someone had been doing maths homework in the margins.

Well, that was nothing too suspicious, and if Dick was leaving anyway, what was there to be worried about? If anything, the stone walls would protect him a lot better than the normal walls of his flat. Alex shrugged and turned to Dick. "I'll take it."

And that was that. Dick handed Alex the keys to the house, packed his bags and left. Bemused at Dick's apparent needless haste, Alex waved goodbye from the front door, and then re-entered the house.

Right.

What to do now? There was none of the usual unpacking to be had. In this situation, it was best to leave everything packed in case of an emergency. If anything happened, Alex could just grab and go.

That left… food. Maybe he was becoming a little obsessed, but when one went travelling, it was a waste to not capitalise on the opportunities for trying food that couldn't be found elsewhere. And yes, the same was true for sight-seeing, but it was a lot more efficient to eat while planning than to sightsee.

Less than twenty minutes after Dick had left, Alex also left the house known as Omaksin to hunt for some brunch, riding an old but sturdy bike that had been left leaning against the side of the house.

An hour of riding later, and Alex was ravenous. He chained the bike to a nearby lamppost and entered a café called "Brights". Well, the décor definitely fit the name: the interior glowed golden, a sharp contrast to the dull blues, greys and greens outside. Alex was so blinded that he passed through the seating and menu-receiving debacle without even seeing his waiter's face.

Reeling from the overflow of sensory information like a bat blasted with ultrasonic death metal, Alex didn't hear what his waiter said, but muttered yes anyway. Minutes later, it turned out that he had ordered the Ulster Fry: Irish soda and potato bread, a golden fried egg, two pork sausages bursting with grease, a few rashers of bacon that were equal parts fat and flesh, some mushrooms and grilled tomato, and the star of the show, black pudding. His mouth watered.

In no time at all, Alex was smacking his lips and reclining contentedly. When he was sure that none of the food he had eaten would resurface, he made his way to the counter and paid the very reasonable price of £4.95, plus a tip.

Thus fed, he returned to Omaksin.

xxx

Alex was sleeping off his very large and very satisfying lunch, stretched out on the sofa before the fireplace – somehow, it felt very wrong to be sleeping in another person's bed – when a noise awoke him. It took him a few long moments to finally recognise that the sound was the doorbell, because its tune was the innocuous _La Cucaracha_.

With sleep-mussed hair that was quite probably not at all like the 'bedhead hair' sported by many male models who Sabina liked to discuss, Alex shuffled over to the door. "Yes?" he yawned, managing to not completely mangle the word.

A friendly-looking face smiled at him, with another not-so-friendly face beside it, a little closer to the ground. Some seconds later and Alex's mind processed the picture. It was a girl – neat brown hair in a bob, with scholarly brown leather shoes and a modest floral calf-length dress – and an older woman, who sported a mane of 80s-streaked hair, bright pink lipstick and lashes like the teeth of a comb, not to mention the rings and bangles that jangled as she shook a … box at him.

"Oh!" cried the woman, "you're not Dick!"

Obviously. "No. I'm not."

The girl rolled her eyes. "Come _on,_ mum. Let's go."

The elder woman widened her already widened eyes and pouted beyond what Alex believed possible. "But what about these Guinness brownies?" she addressed her child. "You know if we leave them at home, your Da will eat all of them."

Alex looked at the girl. The girl looked at Alex. "Take them," she instructed him.

Tentatively, Alex took the brown package being proffered. Food was food, after all. Apparently the Guinness brownies were homemade, you know, not like in the shops. He was touched, really.

However, it seemed that acceptance of her generosity was not all the woman was looking for. She opened her maw. "How is Dick, anyway? He was very much attached to my husband, was Dick. Poor Dick. Dear, dear…"

Alex tried not to cringe at the burgeoning tears that magnified her bloodshot eyes. "Um, he's doing well, I think. I know. Yes. He's on holiday."

Facing interrogators before had not prepared him for this onslaught of … what was it? He'd smelled it on Jack, once, before – when he was very little. It was… magnolia. The magnolia attacked his nose and went straight to the back of his throat. "Where is Dick holidaying?" came the accompanying voice.

Right. Pick a country. "Thailand!"

A shrill giggle was the response. "_One night in Bangkok__, _indeed!"

Alex wondered what on earth the woman was on about.

"Anyway," she continued, still chuckling, "I met Dick's friend's friend – what was it, darling? Mr Frost? Yes that's it – anyway, I met Mr Frost's lady friend. She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I remember, all very hush-hush, nudge-nudge, say no more…" She tapped the side of her nose and winked twice.

Cutting through the ramble in a herculean effort, Alex managed to understand the gist of what the woman was going on about. And it may have been merely coincidence, or Alex's muzzy brain finding patterns where there were none, but he latched on to the worm-bait hidden in the muddy waters of the woman's speech. 'Lady Friend'? Mr Frost? Was she this 'she' who had influenced Icy into targeting Alex? "Where did you meet her?" he interrupted.

"Oh, know her, too, do you?" The woman tried valiantly to disguise her look of intense curiosity.

Alex nodded emphatically and tried to plaster a polite, enquiring look on his face. The girl – he'd almost forgotten she was there – didn't seem to buy it, and snorted delicately.

Her mother didn't notice. "She's here for that big dinner party, you know. All the toffs from all over, gathering like you wouldn't know!"

He did know. Goodness knew Ian had taken him to such events – 'business outings', he'd called them. Thinking back, it probably wasn't quite the kind of business Alex had had in mind.

"And all the town's helping – good money, you know – and I'm a waitress, and I saw her, and I thought, why,_ dear Dick knows her!_ Or knows Mr I. C. Frost, who knows her, and so on. And so I came to tell Dick, but he wasn't here, but here you are, and there you have it."

Alex stood stupefied. "Ah yes," he smiled banally. "Thank you. You may go." He waved a hand at them.

The girl with the brown bob gave a 'pfft' and smirked as she led her mother away. Alex closed and locked the door. Mr Frost's 'lady friend', was it? Hmm.

He opened the box of brownies she'd given him and sat down at the coffee table to think. Guinness brownies – or at least, _these_ Guinness brownies – were not so much brownies, Alex decided, as mounds of sweet, alcoholic goo. They were very, very gooey. The top was deceptively crispy, hiding the melted centre and chunks of caramel that stuck his teeth together. It was this alcohol-, sugar- and most of all chocolate-induced haze of bliss that inspired Alex's next plan of action.

He would go to this function, yes, and find She-Who-Influenced-Icy, and discover who exactly she was. 'She' was, after all, probably someone Alex knew; why else would 'she' target him? That done, he could work something out to resolve this farrago of events and get back to his football team back in Chelsea.

xxx

By seven o'clock that night at a manor house in Ballywalter, Alex was all dolled up in a hired suit from the city centre. He had enquired around town as to what the big event actually was, but there was no consensus. Some said it was a meeting of all the brightest teachers in Europe; others, more fanciful, gushed that it must be a conference for all the governments for each country in the world.

One of the strangest speculations Alex heard came from the suit-store attendant, and involved something along the lines of a matchmaking event for all of the beautiful, young royals of Europe and how she wished she could sneak in somehow and maybe find the perfect prince… In a way, she reminded Alex of Jack, so exuberant and a recent expatriate from America, but she was also eccentric and (more so) strangely naïve.

Upon arriving at the event, Alex began surveying the populace. From first appearances, it was obvious that the attendees of the conference were neither royals nor teachers. In his time with MI6, Alex had grown to know the royals very well through research – Blunt, a traditionalist, had been adamant that Alex should never fail to recognise them, should any sort of trouble arise and they were present… The attendees were not teachers, either. Too normal, too disconnected, too wrong. It was clear these people lacked that _je ne sais quoi _eccentricity that, somehow, all teachers seemed to possess, at least in Alex's experience.

No, the people whose function Alex was crashing had a characteristic surreptitious behaviour. They didn't mill about on the greens or announce each other's presence with exuberance and fanfare. There wasn't anything strange about them, either – no dodging through the shadows, no sneaking or sidling. In fact, they were unremarkable. But not unbelievably unremarkable, not noticeably unnoticeable.

They were spies, of some description, he concluded. These were people who operated in the grey, leaving the white limelight to others. Unluckily, this also meant that Alex would stand out. He was too young to fit in properly, even with a suit.

It was a shame this wasn't like the SCORPIA party in Venice. The fancy dress and atmospheric lighting had meant he could sneak in with nary a second glance. Here, he could whiten his hair with baby powder, but no amount of frowning would even suggest the hint of wrinkles. And he was no makeup artist.

Then he spotted them. The waiters. For some reason – perhaps on the ironic assumption that teenagers could never be a danger? Or perhaps whoever had organised the thing didn't want to spend more than was absolutely necessary – all the waiters ranged from about fifteen to seventeen. Perfect.

The only problem remaining was how to blend in with all the waiters… Alex surveyed the white-shirted forms dotted about the dimly-lit grounds like dandruff, their black aprons hidden in the darkness.

White shirts, no jackets. Black aprons that couldn't be clearly seen. Well, there was his solution. His jacket would make a fine apron. He would look strange to anyone who _really_ looked, sure, but in the gloom it wouldn't be too obvious and if anyone asked, he could say he'd forgotten his apron and was afraid of the authoritarian chef – there was bound to be one of those about – lecturing him…

Hastily, Alex removed his black jacket and tied it round his front with the sleeves at the back. Then he headed off to the kitchens – or wherever all the waiters seemed to spawn from. Once there, he could get a tray of food and begin mingling, and singling out Mr Frost's 'lady friend'.

xxx

The kitchens were warm. Hot, even. Stifling. Alex was hit by a wave of heat and noise as he stepped into the fray, and, coughing slightly, he waved a hand in front of his face to clear the steam. He spotted the trays immediately and shuffled over to them, dodging a tray-laden fellow waiter on the way, who grimaced at him with shared sympathy.

Alex grabbed a tray of pastry-wrapped things (it looked a little like salmon, but who knew with all this modern cuisine) placed down by a sweating, breathless chef who gave him a brief, "Thanks, mate," and balanced it on his hand. Unable to resist, he scooped up one of the pastry things and popped it into his mouth. Definitely salmon. Or trout.

Balancing the tray precariously on his inexperienced hands, he neatly stepped aside to avoid a waiter behind him bringing in an empty tray and was jostled by yet another chef wielding a large bunch of celery. Someone towards the back of the kitchen let out a blood-curdling scream, which was followed by a thunderous crashing and loud cursing, some of it sounding suspiciously like _'Bork! Bork! Bork!'_, but most of it in a female's posh English that sounded somehow familiar. "How _dare_ you spill hot soup on the Head Chef?!"

The woman who'd given him the Guinness brownies earlier hustled past him, covered in some sort of gravy. She rushed out of the room, was gone for no longer than twenty seconds, then was back in a clean uniform and in Alex's face. "You!" she burst. "I knew I recognised you, dear! You're one of my waiters! What a joy to have you here!"

"Er, yes," Alex blinked, thankful she was clearly too distracted to notice his jacket-cum-apron.

The Head Chef beamed at him. "Well, I'll see you around, duck," she said, and rushed back towards the bowels of the kitchen.

Alex, now slowly being pushed into the corner behind a large table, turned carefully to face the door through which he'd entered. Before he could take a step, the door whipped open, giving everyone in the kitchen a blast of freezing – even icy – air. At the faint and slightly familiar smell of peppermint, Alex, frowning slightly, looked up towards the door.

"Hello," Mrs Jones greeted the general area. "I'd like to speak to the Head Chef?"

Alex sucked in his breath and darted behind a large piece of meat hanging from the ceiling. Well, he shouldn't be surprised; after all, she _was_ a spy. He frowned at his automatic reaction to hide. He had no reason to hide. She of all people would fight to keep his cover from being blown. Alex peeked out from behind the meat in time to see the Head-Chef-Guinness-Woman bustle up to the MI6 deputy.

"Oh, it's so nice to see someone take an interest!" she burbled at Mrs Jones, casually shunting a waiter out of the way. "These teenage waiters, honestly," she gave a pained smile, "but _someone_ has to be kind and generous enough to give them work experience! Me," she added. "That's me."

Mrs Jones nodded patiently. "My group truly appreciates the work you've put into all this," she placated the woman. Looking about the chaotic room and giving the barest hint of a smirk, she added, "Your efforts will of course be remembered, by, hmm…" And Alex was shocked to see Mrs Jones trail off dramatically with a dramatic bout of staring into the middle distance.

It seemed to work on the Guinness brownies Head Chef, though, who looked as though she were about to collapse. "Oh, yes," she gushed, "you are too kind, too kind! You were always so sweet, I remember. You always were. So sweet."

"Oh?" For the first time in the encounter, Mrs Jones looked faintly confused. "You… 'remember'?"

"Yes, yes," cried the Head Chef. "Of course, you wouldn't remember me..."

Alex wondered if he could sneak past the pair without them noticing. He doubted it. No one could. There was a line of waiters waiting to leave the kitchen, trays ready and loaded, but the Head Chef's bulk was not about to budge.

She was in the process of continuing her delighted address to Mrs Jones. "We haven't actually met before (it's a pleasure to do so now, of course), but I've seen you around and you always seemed so sweet, you did, dear."

"Hmm," responded Mrs Jones, who seemed to be edging away slightly. She had the door half open behind her. "Well, so nice to meet—"

"And Dick was always talking about Mr Frost, and so on," interrupted the Head Chef, oblivious. "And Mr Frost was always so eager to talk about you, you being his lady friend and all." She winked. "He seems quite taken with you, as I recall…"

Clutching the tray to his chest, Alex felt adrenalin begin to flow through his body. Mrs Jones? _She_ was icy's so-called lady friend?

_MI6_ wanted him dead?

Over the rushing sound in his ears, Alex heard the Head Chef carry on. "Speaking of which, I recently met a friend of Dick's, I think he's here, actually—" she spun around, and Alex was too surprised by her change of subject to duck back behind the meat— "over there, in fact," the Head Chef declared, waving a hand towards Alex.

Rooted to the spot, Alex could felt the blood drain away from his face as Mrs Jones' flicked her disinterested gaze over to him. He felt himself drop the tray as her eyes widened just a fraction.

"Alex!" Mrs Jones called. "What a surprise to see you here," she smiled.

Fear coursing through his veins, Alex distantly ordered himself to pull himself together, to pretend that this was all some sort of coincidence. It was no use. MI6 wanted Alex Rider dead. Silently, still staring disbelievingly at the woman he had thought was on his side, he felt himself jerk his head, once, in a small headshake.

Mrs Jones blinked, her face a picture of innocent confusion. "Alex?" she tried, suspicion creeping into her tone. "Alex, just what _are_ you doing here, anyway?" She stepped forwards.

Alex ran.

* * *

**AN: AHAHAH :D Cliffhanger!**

**To 'Guest' whose review started with ":|":  
****:D Thank you so much for reviewing in detail. I'm glad to hear that you were intrigued by my writing! Even more so, I'm thrilled that I've apparently moved you to review when you normally wouldn't :)**

**Also, a question to my readers: Did y'all really **_**really **_**like 'A Chronicle of Alex's Adventure with CHERUB'? Like, more than my other stories? I'm getting a lot of reviews/favourites/followers for it… I hope I don't sound rude, but why? I wrote that story a while ago, and I'd like to think that my writing is getting better, not worse. Don't get me wrong; I'm delighted, but confused. Anyone willing to clarify?**


	19. Chappie 17 - Belladonna

**Belladonna and Blunt**

_Previously: Alex spied on the spy-function, posing as a waiter, when Mrs Jones appeared as icy's 'Lady friend'. Alex is dismayed that MI6 is behind the attacks on him._

Running through the back door, Alex pushed young waiters into the walls and almost-but-not-quite knocked over several trolleys of dishes and hors d'oeuvres.

Yells of indignity and aggravation echoed Alex as he hurtled through the dim passages, reaching a set of stairs that he leapt up with alacrity. It must have been his imagination, but it seemed as though he could smell Mrs Jones' peppermint breath as though she was breathing down his neck from right behind him. He lunged up the stairs as they curved, round and around, ever upwards, as if he were in a tower.

Somehow, Alex continued panting up the stairs though his knees and feet burned from the repetitive strain. Finally, he reached an antechamber stemming off from the staircase, which led to a larger chamber that he thought must have been a child's playroom, for it was still filled with cloth dolls, a hobby horse, wooden hoops and a penny whistle, preserved in glass cases. An open window let the breeze ruffle the hobby horse's mane.

Unfortunately, Alex discovered there was no door to exit the room bar the one he had entered through, just as, despite her age and heels, Mrs Jones entered the chamber only a few seconds later, puffing and panting.

"Alex, please –"

Alex didn't give her a chance to finish as he scrambled out the window and jumped.

Alex's breath whooshed out as he landed onto a sloped roof conveniently just below the window. He immediately rolled over the edge to the opposite side of the roof, where he rested for a few seconds. He peered back behind him. The pale glow of Mrs Jones' face hovered at the window, and then turned away.

Moving quickly, Alex grabbed the edge of the roof, and lowered himself to perch on a windowsill below. From there, he half-leapt, half-fell down to the ground, two metres below. He buckled his knees as he landed, and rolled to absorb the impact.

Limping slightly, he skirted the grazing crowds of spies to the parking area. While he wasn't sure that his plan was going to work, for now, he had nothing better. Luckily, the first car whose lock Alex attempted to pick and then hotwire started easily, with a barely an audible purr.

The Audi was hardly inconspicuous, but amidst the Lotus cars, Aston Martins and Porsches also on offer, it was, he mused, a rather fortunate find. Strange that spies enjoyed having such flashy cars.

xxx

When Alex pulled up outside Dick Poven's house, there was no sign of pursuit.

He packed up, wrote a quick thank-you note to Dick Poven for the use of the house, and then contemplated the fact that he had only arrived here one day ago.

How quickly he had discovered the true person behind the attacks on him! He hadn't had time to dwell before, and now that he did have time, Alex couldn't bring himself to be truly surprised because he'd lost that one-moment-only immediate aftershock. MI6 had ordered people to try and kill him. Was it SCORPIA all over again? Whatever it was, it was a fact, and while mystifying, no longer startling.

In that split second, he had denied it as impossible – he was their 'greatest asset'! Why would they want him dead? But as he fled, he was furious, then hurt, then unshaken as he accepted it, though he couldn't ever see Mrs Jones or MI6 the same way.

Alex threw his luggage into the Audi roughly and got in. Biting his lip, he twisted the key with a frown to begin the long drive back to London.

xxx

Next evening, after hours and hours of continuous driving with only short breaks for short naps, Alex dumped the car near the Royal and General.

The long drive had given Alex plenty of time to think. He had concluded that where Mrs Jones went, Alan Blunt was the true boss of the operation, and so he had decided to go to the MI6 headquarters and confront them head-on. Mrs Jones must have told Blunt by now that Alex was coming. In his hollow state, Alex hoped that Blunt would have the traditional manners to at least listen to what Alex had to say before calling the guards on him. Blunt hadn't killed him in the hospital, at least.

But that was as far as Alex had gotten. What reason on _earth _drove them to send killers after him? What had he _done? _Hadn't they forgiven him for his attack on Mrs Jones when he was with SCORPIA? Blunt and Jones and probably the rest of MI6 wanted Alex well and truly stone-dead. It was only the grace of fortune that allowed Smithers to escape his superiors' madness.

Or perhaps Smithers was in on it all...? No, that didn't make sense. Maybe Smithers had gone behind his superiors' and the rest of MI6's backs. He was sneaky enough, that was for sure.

Just like way back at the start of this entire mess with MI6, Alex crossed the brown marble floor of the Royal and General, past the receptionist. Maybe it was even the same receptionist as that very first time he'd been introduced to the Bank. Doubtful. She would have remembered him, and smiled, or said something. Instead, to his relief, she steadfastly ignored him.

The lift attendant looked at Alex when he arrived at the lifts and gave a smile dripping with condescension. Despite Alex not looking quite like a kid, clearly he still appeared much too young to be a legitimate worker here.

"Floor sixteen, please," Alex smiled stiffly, and gave the employees' code to let him know that he was, indeed, an employee of the Bank. "Oh-five-oh-four." He met the lift attendant's curious gaze steadily.

"Are – are you sure, Sir?"

"I'm sure."

Clearly, the lift attendant wasn't as sure as Alex. He attempted a glare at Alex. It was nothing compared to the glares Alex had received from K-Unit.

"Oh-five-oh-four," Alex repeated impatiently. To Alex's relief, the lift attendant, albeit still squinting dramatically, stood aside and pressed the buttons to send Alex to floor sixteen.

By the time the lift had managed to eke its way up to floor sixteen, Alex was well and truly seething. Why on Earth had Blunt made the _brilliant _decision to send assassins after him? It surely wasn't because of SCORPIA; they'd used him after that without worrying. Was it some kind of twisted test of his skills? No, MI6 couldn't be that idiotic. What had he _done_?! And the gall to say that they were looking into the issue when he was in hospital, when they themselves _were_ theissue, as it were…

Finally, he arrived outside Blunt's office, almost trembling with rage.

Room 1605. Inexplicably, Alex was reminded of Guy Fawkes, just like those years ago when he was still fourteen, and first visited Blunt's office. _Remember, remember the Fifth of November, the Gunpowder Treason and Plot. _How apt, Alex snarled mentally. He opened the door and marched in.

Blunt's face looked as blank as it had ever been, though perhaps, if it wasn't Alex's imagination, his eyes were a little wider than usual. He discreetly tucked the papers he had been reading into one of the drawers of his desk. "Alex."

Alex was curt. "Blunt."

"Why are you here?" His voice was mild, unsurprised and only slightly curious.

Why was he here? _Why was he here? _"You know why I'm here," Alex growled, clenching his fists. "Hasn't your pepperminted puppy let you know yet?"

For once, Blunt's pause didn't seem intentional. "Know what, may I ask?"

Really? He wanted to try Alex's patience this far? Alex kicked the door shut behind him and took a step towards Blunt, whose expression remained bland.

"That I know you and Mrs Jones sent all those assassins after me," he spat. And the words came pouring out in a torrent of fury and hurt. "Is this because of SCORPIA? Or you're scared I'll go to the media? Because if there's some sort of problem, you know, I think I'd prefer to have some sort of conversation about it instead of just trying to kill me right off the bat. And then you went and visited me in the hospital! Gee, what a laugh that must have been. 'Poor Alex, isn't it amusing when he's confused?'"

Breathing heavily, Alex watched Blunt carefully. His expression didn't change. But the man was silent for a long time, enough time for Alex to calm somewhat. Then Blunt took a deep breath. "Alex –"

The door opened and Alex instinctively hid himself behind the pot plant beside the door. In walked a ruffled-looking Mrs Jones, pushing the door shut behind herself without turning. Alex pressed himself further into the shadows behind the pot plant. _Be the tree,_ he remembered.

"Ah, Tulip, how may I be of assistance?" asked Blunt, expression showing no hint of the conversation he'd been having with Alex.

"Alan," Mrs Jones smiled, showing her lipstick-stained teeth and releasing the waves of peppermint into the room. "I'm afraid Alex seems to have contracted some sort of tropical hallucinatory disease while he was… away. He appears to believe that his hunters were sent by me." She gave a sharp laugh.

Mr Blunt leaned back in his chair, as much as one could in such a straight-backed chair. "And did you?"

Mrs Jones raised her eyebrows. "Of course not!"

"Well," said Blunt, with – or so Alex imagined – the barest hint of a smile, "you never know." He motioned for her to take the seat opposite him from across the desk. Alex sent mental waves of gratitude. This way, it was virtually impossible for Mrs Jones to notice him behind the pot plant. Perhaps Blunt wasn't in on sending the assassins after all. "So, how did you come to this conclusion?"

"I came to that conclusion," Mrs Jones repeated, "because he… he told me."

Blunt waited.

"Er, well, long story short, we bumped into each other and he accused me – in his delirium – of, well, you know," continued Mrs Jones.

Alex shook his head violently, and caught with relief Blunt's tiny flicker of acknowledgement. "I see," said Blunt, and stopped.

Mrs Jones filled the silence. "It was in Ireland. For that conference? He was there, for some reason. He was in the kitchen."

Blunt nodded, but didn't speak. Typical information-garnering tactic, thought Alex with approval.

"I wanted to give the head chef my approval. For public relations."

"Hmm," Blunt contributed.

"She knew me already," burbled Mrs Jones, somewhat desperately, "from a man I know. He knows Alex, too. I introduced him to Al…" She paused.

Blunt picked up a small paperweight and weighed it in his hand, his expression as impenetrable as ever. "Do I know this man?" he asked, sounding bored.

"No," Mrs Jones hastened to answer. "No, I picked him up. By myself. You wouldn't know him."

"Well," said Blunt, placing the paperweight back down carefully. Alex wondered if he was imagining the slight upwards quirk of Blunt's lips. "You never know."

They sat in silence for a while. All their meetings might be like this, Alex speculated. Mrs Jones brushed imaginary dust from her suit skirt.

Mr Blunt glanced briefly at Alex, expression unchanging, before transitioning smoothly to looking out the window. A small crease appeared in his forehead before eventually disappearing. He leant forwards on the table, affixing Mrs Jones with his terrifyingly blank eyes. "How did you introduce this man to Agent Rider?" he questioned.

Mrs Jones gave a slight twitch. "Alan, you know I don't like your referring to him as an agent."

"That is what he is, Tulip," said Blunt mildly.

But Mrs Jones was having none of it. "This is all because of you," she accused him.

Mr Blunt's gaze did not alter. He waited.

"You know, I used to think it was okay," continued Mrs Jones, voice high. "But it's not!"

"What isn't?"

"Having a child agent. It's wrong!"

Alex caught the brief glance Blunt sent his way with a shrug and a blank expression. Mr Blunt leant back into his straight-backed chair. It looked just as uncomfortable as it had the first time. "Tulip, we were discussing how you introduced this man of yours to Agent Rider."

"Stop calling him an agent!" demanded Mrs Jones. "And that's not important!"

Blunt's gaze went down to the desk, then back up as he directed his stare to his deputy. He said nothing.

A flush appeared on Mrs Jones' cheeks.

"You heard my reasons for including Mr Rider in our employ when we employed him," Blunt said at last. "If you agreed then, you must agree now."

Mrs Jones' lips tightened. She did not respond.

"He is an excellent agent," Blunt prompted, with another split-second look towards Alex. "Mature enough to be an adult, despite his age."

Alex couldn't help but feel pride rise within himself, though he crushed it quickly with thoughts of all the paint MI6 had caused him. Most recently, missing the football season.

Mrs Jones remained silent.

"Agent Rider will be an adult soon," Blunt pushed, "so there is even less need for any… _angst_."

Mrs Jones twitched violently. "That is no excuse!" she burst. "The more time he is with us, the more chance there is of the media finding out, and god forbid that should ever happen. You know the consequences, Alan."

"We agreed the benefits outweighed the—"

Alex had never seen Mrs Jones so emotional before. She interrupted Mr Blunt angrily. "No, _you_ agreed. I succumbed to your authority. But no more!"

Blunt blinked. Alex was sure he imagined the victorious smirk that flashed across Blunt's face.

But Mrs Jones was too far into her impassioned rant to notice such things. "I had to get rid of him _somehow_. And if I just made you fire him, then he might have turned against us and tried to kill us, or gone to the media, and if we sent him on a suicide mission, then that would be just cruel."

Raising an eyebrow, Alex wondered just what exactly Mrs Jones' definition of 'cruel' was.

"This wasn't _really_… it really wasn't hurting him. It was meant to be quick." She subsided and appeared to shrink in the chair. "I just wanted what was best," she whispered in a small voice.

Blunt was silent for a while. Then he nodded. "So you did send the assassins, then? I see." He looked at the grey sky through the window.

"I knew you'd see it," Mrs Jones said proudly. "This _is_ the best solution, Alan."

Blunt nodded again. He picked up the paperweight and weighed it in his hand as before. "I suppose we should end this, then, eh?" he told Mrs Jones, sounding oddly cheerful. She gave a polite laugh, and Blunt gave a twist of his mouth that was probably supposed to be a friendly grin.

Next to the pot plant, Alex stood shakily. Was this how it would end? With a lunatic deputy convincing the head of MI6 to kill Alex in cold blood, in this very office? He stepped towards the door.

Blunt's gaze snapped to him. He rose to his feet. "No—"

The door crashed open just as Mrs Jones spun in her chair to see Alex, her mouth forming a small 'o'. Mrs Jones might have collapsed in on herself then, or she might have lunged at Alex. But the world would never know, because there was a bang and Alex was thrown to the floor.

He looked towards Blunt, who held a gun – the paperweight – and then Mrs Jones, who also lay on the floor, blood beginning to pool from her abdomen.

"It's okay," Blunt said to the men holding Alex down. "He was protecting me."

Alex was let up and the suited men who had appeared out of nowhere went over to Mrs Jones and helped her up, holding her arms behind her back. One of them pressed his suit jacket to her stomach.

One look to Blunt, and Alex knew the man had called the men. Somehow. He had planned this – maybe not until halfway through Mrs Jones' rant, but Blunt looked almost too smug for events to have been completely random.

Relief flooded through Alex. So it had been Mrs Jones acting alone, then. "Where are they taking her?" he asked, to fill the silence.

"Do you really want to know?"

Alex thought about the answer. No. It didn't matter now, he realised. He was tired of running, and now that Mrs Jones had been dealt with, there wasn't any more point in pursuing the story. That was one lesson he'd learned over the years since his Uncle's death. Sometimes, curiosity really did kill the cat.

Blunt seemed to have come to the same conclusions. "She will be taken care of. You needn't worry about her again." He shuffled some papers on his desk, presumably for dramatic effect. "Ah, yes. The man you know as 'Wolf' is in St Dominic's Hospital. Room 1302, under the name David Webb. He may require some form of apologetic acknowledgment. I will leave that to you."

"Thank you." Alex realised that he had never thanked Blunt before. Were they developing an amicable relationship? Would wonders never cease?

The head of MI6 was staring at him. Well, not so much as staring, but watching, with blank eyes that seemed unfazed by all that passed before them, even the misplaced accusations of a too-young agent and the treachery of a trusted deputy.

For a moment, Alex wondered why Blunt wasn't saying anything. Then, he began to suspect that, in Blunt's own strange and disinterested way, the man was allowing Alex some time to process everything that had happened. After all, it wasn't every day that a teenaged spy was betrayed by the deputy of the organisation for whom he spied.

As Alex warmed to this idea, he couldn't help but notice that Blunt had now politely – Sympathetically! Kindly! – averted his eyes, and was allowing Alex to waste his precious office-time.

Alex couldn't help but blush. "Thank you," he said again, and this time he really meant it.

xxx

After exiting the Royal and General Bank, Alex had a moment of mental panic. His quest over, his life no longer in danger, what was he meant to do now? Could he simply return home, as if nothing had happened? Somehow it seemed trivial to just go home, have dinner, watch some television… But then, as it had been shadowing him this entire ordeal, he remembered the semi-final.

Alex checked his watch for the date. Today was the day! And he would be just on time, if not a little early, provided he hurry. He hailed a cab.

Blank faces – some sneering, some supportive, some disappointed, but most of them blank – greeted him when he arrived at the grounds where his team was just warming up. It was either a sign of hope for him, or of despair, depending on which way he looked at it.

Alex approached his coach with trepidation.

"Coach," he greeted the man. "Glad to see we've, er, we've managed to make the semi-finals."

The grizzled man crossed his arms. "Yes," he said shortly, "barely. Where have you been, Alex?"

He clearly wasn't making it any easier for Alex. It was a far cry from his proud crowing before Alex had left that they'd 'beat all those nancy-boys and show them _real_ football'. Although perhaps he was saving that for the pre-match huddle.

"Ah, I was wondering, Sir," Alex pushed through his unwilling mouth, "whether I may still, er… whether I can play?"

There was a minute of silence, but it couldn't have been a minute because no-one paused for whole minutes, at least in not this sort of situation, and then the Coach spoke. "I'm sorry." Alex felt his stomach plunge, and he swallowed the emotion threatening to crumble his façade of calm. The Coach, uncrossing his arms, continued. "You know the rules, Alex, and so do I. You have to attend at least 75 percent of matches. Otherwise it isn't fair. You might have been co-captain, but –"

Of course. Why had he expected anything else? Rules were rules. "Yeah. Sorry," he muttered.

The Coach smiled slightly. "Maybe next season, if you don't disappear on us, eh, Alex?"

"Yeah, hopefully."

And that was that.

Alex spent the next two hours or so wandering despondently around London, until he realised he had something else to do: Wolf had gotten hurt for him, had broken his collarbone at icy's, and so it was only proper to visit him in the hospital, pay his respects and all that. Blunt had even reminded him, telling Alex the specific hospital Wolf was in. St Dominic's. Room 1302. Under David Webb.

Instead of catching another cab this time, Alex walked. It wasn't that far away, after all. He'd walked further before. He arrived barely breaking a sweat, nodding to the receptionist and striding confidently to the lifts, reading the directions on the signs he passed.

It was then that exhaustion hit. Not during Mrs Jones' apprehension, or even when Coach refused him. He entered the lifts and leaned on the bar along the lift wall, staring across at the wooden panels of the outside wall. What a day it had been! Odd doorknockers, becoming a temporary waiter, betrayal, confusion, Blunt being _nice_, of all things, and missing out on the rest of the football season…

As the doors of the lift that would take him to Wolf's floor slowly closed, a couple of people strolled by, one of them with a distinctly familiar face he couldn't quite place. "Such a shame those kids from Brooklands lost," the familiar face commented to the person beside them, "they were so close to the grand final."

Alex's ears pricked at 'Brooklands'. He sneaked a glance through the gap between the closing lift doors. Was that—?

It _was_, good God_._

His jaw dropped.

_**The End.**_

**AN: Well, that's that! Did you like it, hate it, heaven-forbid despise it? Don't forget the competition! And I'll see you next story :)**


	20. A Shot in the Dark - refs comp

**References**

* * *

**AN: First of all, thank you to all who voted. Thanks also to the two participants in my competition... Since the two of you were so kind as to humour me, I thought I'd give a one-shot to each of you: **

**Doctor'sLittleDalek - for getting the most references of all**

**natashabromanoff - for spotting that Men at Work reference :D**

**And now, to my reference list! I'll put in anything and everything I would have accepted as an answer. Some of them are hardly references, but I'll put them there just in case.**

* * *

** Prologue**

"Don't panic," Katie hissed to herself - _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams (book)_

"You can tell by the way I use my walk…" - _Staying Alive, The Bee Gees (song)_

**Chappie 1**

the Matrix - _The Matrix, 1999 (movie series)_

He _was_ the law! - _Judge Dredd, 1995 (movie), paraphrasing of "I am the law!"_

Nurse Wainscott - _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, J.K. Rowling (book)_

Was he melting? - _Wizard of Oz, 1939 (movie), slight reference to the Wicked Witch of the West_

the high-pitched shrieks of a violin - _Psycho, 1960 (movie), tribute to the movie score for revolutionising movie scores_

**Chappie 2**

"I'll be back" - _Terminator, 1984 (movie)_

Ford Prefect, which he'd bought from a strange man … looking into the sky at random intervals - _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams (book)_

"You rang?" - _The Addams Family (TV show)_

"Sometimes I wonder –" "Where [you've] been" - _Out Here on My Own, Fame, 1980 (song)_

Boxy blue car - _TARDIS, Doctor Who (TV show)... a very, very slight reference, and not a very good one at that_

Once particularly enthusiastic blonde tourist … flashing his camera at the motorbike - _Colin Creevey, Harry Potter (book series)... it's a bit of a stretch _

"_BABY YOU'RE A FI-REWORK … really greener," _sang Katy Perry… - _Firework/California Gurls, Katy Perry (song)  
_

**Chappie 3**

Where is it? Where? Where? - The Song That Goes Like This_, Spamalot (song), as sung by __Sara Ramirez and Christopher Sieber_

A MUNDANE AND FUNCTIONAL ITEM, ... THE BASIS OF OUR ENTIRE CULTURE? - _Private Plane, Blackadder Goes Forth (TV show)_

Lab tested - _Kleenex Cottonelle (advertisement)_

The Baritones - _The Sopranos (TV show)_

The Omega Sector - _True Lies, 1994 (movie) – also The Gift, Star Trek, 1997 (TV show)_

Shakespeare's tragic hero … McBeth - _Macbeth, Shakespeare (play)_

the account called 'Circus' - _The Circus (MI6), John le Carré (book series)_

index, middle, ring, middle - _When played with the right hand starting with the tonic in a minor key, this forms the base line of the James Bond Theme (song)_

The game is afoot... You know my method. It is founded upon the observation of trifles... I cannot make bricks without clay... How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth - _Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (book series)_

**Chappie 4**

a dozen males clad in white running shorts and T-shirts … a certain fiery chariot - _Chariots of Fire, 1981 (movie)_

Stairway to Heaven - _Stairway to Heaven, Led Zeppelin (song)_

**Chappie 5**

All was lost … and he'd never be happy again - _Dementors, Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling (book __series__)_

…hill waving a fist in the air, covered in copper pots … "_Todos os deuses são bastardos_!" - _rough Portuguese translation of "__All gods are bastards", from __The Colour of Magic, Sir Terry Pratchett (book)_

**Chappie 6**

the towels. One had the words 'Don't Panic' inscribed in large friendly letters - _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams (book)_

"I don't think; I know" "You do not think you know?" "No, I know I know!" "You sound like a parrot." - _School of Comedy (TV show)_

**Chappie 7**

Louis Le Châtelier - _Hentry-Louis Le Châtelier, 1850 – 1936 (chemist)_

**Chappie 8**

A slender man in a brown pinstriped suit … "Allons-y!" - _Ten, Doctor Who (TV show)_

cacophony of a woman singing 70s music and urging listeners to 'Do it, do it again' - _Betty Boop – this entire scene was based off Midnight, Doctor Who (TV show)_

young British girl … "_My name's Cassie and I'm lost – lost after pirates attacked my father's sp_–" - _Bounty Hamster (TV show)_

letter on posh stationery … "The path has never seemed more… lonely…" - _The Girl in the Fireplace, Doctor Who (TV show)_

a rainbow ball spun on a platform suspended in the virtual air of a world with ultra-saturated colours - _Marble Blast (game)_

woman's grey hair and subtle wrinkles … weirdly dark eyes ringed by purplish bruises … "Why don't you email Hal, Tom and Anniethat trio of yours (check this)? I'm sure they'd like to hear from us. Make sure to ask about Eve." - _Adam Jacobs / Yvonne Bradshaw, Hold the Front Page, Being Human (TV show)_

_juvenile criminal .._. tattoo on the man's neck … overly endowed girl (to put it lightly), with a scowl … - _Seth / Kelly, Misfits (TV show)... If you want to watch this show, I recommend only the first few seasons..._

The Thinker - _Auguste Rodin (Sculpture)_

a magic carpet ride in a whole new world. It was an indescribable feeling. - _A Whole New World, Aladdin (song)_

Room 713 - _Vault 713, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, J.K. Rowling (book)_

**Chappie 9**

a trio of some sort of junior investigators, one of them being named after a planet - _The Three Investigators, Robert Arthur, Jr. (book __series__)... Their names were Jupiter, Peter, and Bob_

man with flattened black hair parted on the side, loose lips and a milky eye muttering in English something about bonds and casinos - _Le Chiffre, Casino Royale, James Bond, 2006 (movie)_

a silvery-haired woman with awe-inspiring looks … red-headed husband … ravaged by a dog - _Fleur Delacour / Bill Weasley, Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling (book__ series__)_

he condemned Robert Langdon for trusting Teabing - _The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown (book)_

a small, rotund man with a neat black moustache waddle in to the crime section - _Hercule Poirot, Agatha Christie (book__ series__)_..._ all the characters in this bookstore that Alex noticed were French, with the notable exception of Poirot, who is emphatically Belgian, not French_

**Chappie 10**

Under the gaze of many cameras … sympathy for Winston Smith … as Charrington had Winston - _1984, George Orwell (book)_

The waiter … "Why's your nametag Susan?" - _Johnny English Reborn, 2011 (movie)... __Shu-Shan_

a man faced with flogging by scented bootlaces - _The Colour of Magic, Sir Terry Pratchett (book)_

…they each clambered onto the lower shelf of a cart, pushing the extra cutlery and trays - _Escape from the Cyclops, the Iliad, Homer (poem)... replacing sheep with food carts_

Old Q-boy - _James Bond, Ian Fleming (book__ series__)_

**Chappie Eleven**

"_Smile, you son of a –" _The shark exploded … sinking into the deep … Hooper appeared - _Jaws, 1975 (movie)_

My accent isn't that bad … "They couldn't understand you when you said 'eleven'." - _Episode 1, Burnistoun Season 1 (TV show)_

"Thought you ought to know" - _Professor Quirrel, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, J.K. Rowling (book)_

"A yeerk is a creature you would know all about if you were more well-read" - _Animorphs, K.A. Applegate (book series)... I do not condone Eagle's viewpoint_

Ben procured a pack of cards from somewhere, dealing to himself, Wolf and Snake… "Mao" - _Mao (game)_

**Chappie Twelve**

take it off and bite your tongue - _Russian Unicorn, Bad Lip Reading (song)... not as dirty as I made it sound_

…a pop biscuit or a hot-and-cold goody or a google bun… give you a toffee shock… - _The Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton (book series)_

…who stepped, blinking, into the sun. There was more to see than could ever be seen… - _Circle of Life, The Lion King, 1994 (song)_

**Chappie Thirteen**

that Swedish detective guy played by that Lockhart man - _Wallander (TV show)_

I _was_ going to Kramer youse all - _Cosmo Kramer goes through doors abruptly and dramatically, Seinfeld (TV show)_

**Chappie Fourteen**

"I'm a soldier, Fox, not a spy," Wolf pointed out. - _"I'm a doctor, (Jim,) not a…" Dr Leonard McCoy, Star Trek (TV show)_

"I dare do all that may become a man." - _Act 1 Scene 7, Macbeth, Shakespeare (play)_

he shrieked, "A rat, a rat!" - _Act 4 Scene 1, Hamlet, Shakespeare (play)_

"No!" he howled. "Don't say nothin's wrong!" - _Better Be Home Soon, Crowded House (song)_

**Chappie Fifteen**

Oi know Oi'm roight … For the first toime in moi loife.  
See it stretch on forever!  
Stripping back the coats of lies and deception  
_ \- Better Be Home Soon, Crowded House (song)_

Now, you've changed … and jumbled the pieces. You've changed. You're better before you talked.  
Love children of the new age … Here come the handmaidens of end toime.  
_ \- Fame Is, Crowded House (song)_

Oi'm still here … Oi've come ta rain on your parade - _I'm Still Here, Crowded House (song)_

You can tell a man from what he has ta say  
Wherever there is comfort, there is pain  
_ \- Four Seasons In One Day, Crowded House (song)_

Yes, but let it go  
Oi think that Oi'm beginning to know her  
The finger of blame has turned upon itself  
_ \- Fall At Your Feet, Crowded House – also Let It Go, Frozen, 2013 (song)_

Things ain't cooking in moi kitchen  
You can foight the sleep, but not the dream  
_ \- Weather With You, Crowded House (song)_

Hey, don't look now  
Beautiful lie … Terrible truth  
If ya know me … why don't youse tell me what Oi'm thinking  
_ \- There Goes God, Crowded House (song)_

"I was wearing my dressing gown and slippers. _I'm_ no plebeian; I'm Arthur Ent"... mumbling something about Thursdays_ \- Arthur Dent, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams (book)_

It's a way of bringing sheltah from the rain  
Loife's too short for burning bridges  
Still mad at Uncle Sam?  
Nope, ain't worried about tamorrah. I've made up my mind  
Working hard … ta make a living  
_ \- Working Class Man, Jimmy Barnes (song)_

Oi hear this town, it never goes to sleep - _Whispers and Moans, Crowded House (song)_

So and by the way, ah, Oi lost my address - _I'm Coming (Home), INXS (song)_

It's a long way to the top - _It's a Long Way to the Top (If You Wanna Rock 'n' Roll), AC/DC (song)_

icy scolded him fondly. "Oi'd make wine from your tears, mate."  
We all have wings … but some of us don't know why.  
_ \- Never Tear Us Apart, INXS (song)_

No stop signs, speed limit. Nobody's gonna slow me down - _Highway to Hell, AC/DC (song)_

Ready or not, here comes the drop  
Man in a cage has made his confession now  
You feel lucky when you know where you are  
_ \- It's Only Natural, Crowded House (song)_

Don't be so reckless!  
she don't loike that kind of behaviour  
So, throw down your guns  
_That_ koind of behaviour  
_ \- Reckless, Australian Crawl (song)... You may have noticed that icy is profoundly Australian... he speaks in song lyrics from Australian artists_

The inbred smoile … He played the woild scene, ya know. They built him up_  
_Don't tell me … Oi don't wanna hear about it  
_ \- Errol, Australian Crawl (song)_

Oi've seen your peers poutin' over beers  
You don't know the reason why?  
_ \- Hoochie Gucci Fiorucci Mama, Australian Crawl (song)_

Oi can't afford it … Oi can't get no satisfaction  
Things just, ah, don't seem, ah, to… be goin' roight  
_ \- Things Don't Seem, Australian Crawl – also (I Can't Get No) Satisfaction, The Rolling Stones (song)_

Oi wander the streets never reaching the hoights … cars shooting by with no number plates  
The excess of fat on your American bones will cushion the impact as you sink loike a stone  
_ \- Chocolate Cate, Crowded House (song)_

Broken dreams that never really started_ \- Downhearted, Australian Crawl (song)_

Oi don't _feeeel_ pathetic_ \- Italian Plastic, Crowded House (song)_

Be-_yoo_-tiful, people - _Beautiful People, Australian Crawl (song)_

Some things aren't meant to be. Some things don't come for free  
And if we think about it – and if we talk about it – and if the skies go dark with rain?  
_ \- Put Down That Weapon, Midnight Oil (song)_

A fact's a fact  
The toime has come, a fact's a fact, we're gonna give it back  
_ \- Beds Are Burning, Midnight Oil (song)... lead singer is Peter Garrett, who became an Environmental minister for the government_

Nothing's as precious as a hole in the ground - _Blue Sky Mine, Midnight Oil (song)... a song about a very sad story_

Are you trying to tempt me? … Because Oi come from the land of _plenty - Land Down Under, Men at Work (song) :D_

Oi was only nineteen - _I Was Only Nineteen, Redgum (song)... about the Vietnam War_

when Oi decided this is what Oi want to be … "Suddenly I see," exclaimed Snake - _Suddenly I See, KT Tunstall (song)... not the correct nationality for icy _

Oi hear the sounds of the stranger's voices  
You walk alone loike a primitive man  
They're gonna forget you, are you gonna let them take you over this way..?  
_ \- Great Southern Land, Icehouse (song)_

my soul was sold with my cigarettes to the black market woman  
_ \- Khe Sanh, Cold Chisel (song), about the Vietnam War_

Tell him Neris Veran sent you - _Second Sons Trilogy, Jennifer Fallon (book series)_

**Chappie Sixteen**

he navigated his way to a butcher shop. Specifically, _The Butcher of Belfast_... 'Neris Veran' had sent him... "I'm Dick Poven"... "My mother was very strong on courtesy."... the name of the house: Omaksin... Dick with two others, '_Eleanor, Dick and Kersh at Avakas'... _a name, ' –han Thorn' … eclipses at various times of the year … maths homework in the margins... - _Butcher of Elcast, Second Sons Trilogy, Jennifer Fallon (book series), many references_

It was the small things that changed this house from a mere building to the Weasley Burrow... She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named - _Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling (book series)_

He was very much attached to my husband, was Dick. Poor Dick. Dear, dear… - _A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens (book), almost a direct quotation_

A shrill giggle was the response. "_One night in Bangkok_, indeed!" - _One Night in Bangkok, Concept Album for Chess, 1984 (song)_

all very hush-hush, nudge-nudge, say no more…" She tapped the side of her nose and winked twice - _Nudge Nudge (Candid Photography), Monty Python (sketch)_

loud cursing, some of it sounding suspiciously like _'Bork! Bork! Bork!' - Swedish Chef, The Muppets (TV show)_

**Chappie Seventeen**

gave the employees' code … "Oh-five-oh-four." - _Anthony Horowitz's birthday (5__th__ April), sorry to all who write dates with the month first_

Room 1302 - _Alex Rider's birthday (13__th__ February)_

under the name David Webb - _The Bourne Series, Robert Ludlum (book series)_

You know the rules, Alex, and so do I - _Never Gonna Give You Up, Rick Astley (song)_


End file.
